Heroes Never Die
by IsmayDeVain
Summary: Neal has his own opinion about heroes. He knows he doesn't fit the category, nor does he want to. But when a friend's life is in danger, he has to choose. Does he step up to the plate? Or stick to his guns and let fate take its course?
1. Chapter 1

**When Neal Caffery heard the word hero, he immediately thought the word idiot. Heroes died. They risked everything- mind, body, spirit-to save strangers, uphold a cause or some other rubbish. **

**Heroes lost everything they loved, everything that meant something to them and for what? A pat on the back, a smile, and then a shelf with yesterday's news. **

**Heroes were morons. They rushed into deadly situations without thinking. More often than not they wound up dead because they acted on impulse. They didn't stop and think, didn't formulate a plan. So they died and the survivors felt bad so they gave the idiots the label hero.**

**Definition of a hero in Neal Caffery's book: dumbass in search of glory or honor and ends up with a bullet between eyes.**

**But if you looked up that definition in the dictionary, there would be a picture of Neal beside it.**

**Royal dumbass.**

**It wasn't like he hadn't tried to come up with a plan. He had. The whole way to the car. That he'd borrowed. Without permission. Yeah, he was so going back to jail.**

**It'd started with their case. He and Peter were searching for the Scarecrow, a counterfeit who used duress and unnecessary violence to get what he wanted. Neal thought the name came from the Wizard of Oz because the criminal obviously had no brain when it came to finesse. Peter insisted it was from the Batman villain, the one who struck fear into his victims or some nonsense. Neal had rolled his eyes.**

**Peter was such a boy scout.**

**Neal preferred his reasoning, especially when they had a break in the case and discovered the criminals real name. Curtis Wolfgang. Neal would have taken the Scarecrow over that name any day.**

**It was Peter that came up with the plan to infiltrate Wolfgang's operation. It was Neal who volunteered. Peter, reluctantly and with much cursing, agreed.**

**Neal should have known playing the ex con on the rebound gig would catch on sooner or later. He should have known his name would be linked with those three letters every criminal hated: FBI.**

**The Jag Neal had 'borrowed' was low on fuel. Peachy. Fan-freaking-tastic.**

**He glanced down at his ankle and glared at the green light.**

"**Damn it," he swore aloud.**

**He wasn't out of range. He need to damn thing to change to red or no one would come for him. And if no one came, then his impromptu plan would be a bust.**

**The Scarecrow had been watching **_**them**_**. He let Neal in to the operation but never let him see evidence. Didn't matter. It was all a façade. Wolfgang could have run, but as Neal had imagined, the man didn't have a brain when it came to safe business practices. He took things personally.**

**Neal found that out on the roof of June's home. Thank God she was at her granddaughter's art show. She wouldn't be happy about the mess on the roof or the hog tied unconscious killer. But those things could be fixed.**

**Neal jerked the wheel to the right, narrowly missing the car traveling at a snail's pace. Two miles seemed to be a million and he still had another mile to go before he reached the Burkes.**

**During the fight on the roof, he'd convinced his attacker to spill and found out he wasn't the only target that night. A second agent had been sent to take care of Peter Burke. Not the FBI agent directly, but his lovely wife.**

**Neal sped around the corner, nearly crying in relief when he saw the Burke house, brightly lit. he glanced down at the tracker and could have danced for the flashing red light. Instead, he gave a quick prayer of gratitude.**

**Stupid Peter, damn boy scout. Neal, since he did possess a brain, had phoned him right away but only got his voicemail. Damn meeting he wasn't a part of. When Burke didn't answer, Neal called the FBI office and was promptly put on hold. He should have called the police then, but his mind was a little slow.**

**Probably from the blood loss.**

**Damn knife.**

**The Jag hopped the curb. Neal parked and ran drunkenly for the door. He tried to open it, found it was locked, and started pounding on it for all he was worth. Twenty seconds later, a very confused and blissfully unaware Elizabeth appeared at the door.**

"**Neal? What're you-"**

"**We have to go," Neal panted, "Right now," he glanced down at her bare feet, "Got shoes?"**

"**Whoa, slow down," Elizabeth gasped when he sagged against the door frame and his coat moved, "Is that blood?"**

"**Elizabeth, we don't have time. You have to believe me. Something bad is gonna happen if we don't leave, now."**

**Elizabeth's eyes widened, "Peter-"**

**Neal pushed off the frame, "Peter's fine, but-"**

**The frame exploded into splinters. Elizabeth shrieked in surprise. Neal felt the tiny bits of wood slice across his face, but he was already moving, pushing Elizabeth inside and kicking the door shut.**

"**Back door?" he asked.**

"**What the hell was that?!"**

**The window behind them shattered and Neal made a split second decision. He grabbed Elizabeth's hand and pulled her up the stairs. As they turned the corner into the hall, the door below flew off its hinges. Elizabeth screamed.**

**Neal could hear the man storming up the stairs as he reached for the attic ladder cord and pulled. It flung down with a hard thump and Neal pushed Elizabeth up the steps. The man rounded the corner and raised his gun.**

"**Go!" Neal shouted.**

**Elizabeth cried out as she tumbled into the attic, courtesy of Neal's shove. The man fired two shots in rapid succession. The first lodged in the ladder. Neal felt the other slice across his calf as he climbed the ladder.**

**He screamed in pain, but through the haze, he latched onto the pull cord and yanked with all his might. The ladder snapped up as the man reached out for it. Neal wound the cord around his hand and braced himself against the floor boards as the killer grabbed the other cord and pulled.**

"**Neal!" Elizabeth called as she scrambled for him.**

"**Get something heavy!" he cried.**

**He could feel the cord biting into his flesh and his strength was disappearing fast. The killer was going to win this tug of war game sooner rather than later.**

**Elizabeth dashed across the attic and shoved a tall stack of boxes over. Neal didn't understand why until he saw her pushing a desk toward the opening. A desk made of solid oak.**

**The cord was giving. Neal clenched his teeth and leaned all of his weight back. He pulled, ignoring the searing pain in his side and leg and hand. And then the cord snapped. The ladder fell down, inviting in the killer. With one finale shove, the desk covered the hole. Neal sighed heavily and closed his eyes.**

"**Neal?"**

**Cool hands touched his face and his eyes snapped back open. Elizabeth stared anxiously at him. He swallowed hard. The work of a hero is never done.**

"**Help me up," he said.**

**She nodded and grabbed hold of his arm. Together they stumbled like a pair of drunks to the back corner. Elizabeth helped him lean against the wall.**

"**What's going on, Neal?" she asked, her voice shaking.**

**Neal dug out his cell, "Call Peter."**

**Though she wanted answers, Elizabeth obeyed. Peter answered on the second ring.**

"**El, I can't talk now, honey-"**

"**Peter! Someone's in the house!"**

"**What!"**

"**He has a gun and I think he's trying to kill me!"**

**Neal beckoned for the phone, "Let me."**

**Elizabeth nodded with tears in her eyes, "Neal needs to talk to you."**

"**What the hell is Neal doing there?"**

"**Hello to you too," Neal said dryly, "Peter-"**

"**What the hell are you doing in my house, Caffery? And why is someone shooting at my wife?"**

"**It's the Scarecrow," Neal said tiredly, "He knew I was working with the FBI. He sent someone to kill Elizabeth as a warning."**

"**How'd you find out?"**

"**From the unexpected guest I had tonight," Neal frowned when two Elizabeth's suddenly appeared in front of him.**

"**What are you doing there?"**

"**Bleeding."**

**He lifted his coat and grimaced at the large stain. The shirt was obviously ruined. Elizabeth gasped, her hands flying to her mouth.**

"**What the hell-"**

"**Are you on your way?"**

"**Of course I am!" Peter yelled, "I'm five minutes away. Back up's not far behind."**

"**Good, cause I think our new friend is trying to break in."**

**Neal tossed the phone aside and scrambled to his feet just as the octagon shaped window across from them shattered. Elizabeth screamed and covered her head. The killer stumbled in through the window and raised his arm, but Neal was already on him.**

**The two men fell to the floor, wrestling for the gun. Neal somehow managed to stay on top. He looked over his shoulder at Elizabeth.**

"**Run!" he screamed.**

**He watched her run by them to the window as the man's hands closed around his throat. Neal gagged and choked as his air was abruptly cut off. He was thrown to the ground and the man rolled. His hands never left Neal's throat.**

**Damn hero complex.**

**Neal reached out, searching for anything to ward off his attacker. His fingers stretched out across the dusty attic floor. The face of his killer darkened as what little air he had in his lungs escaped. And then he found it. The gun of all things.**

**Neal slammed the weapon into the man's face and watched him crumble to the side. He raised himself up on his elbow and hit the man again, just for good measure. Convinced he was out, Neal scrambled to his feet, letting the gun hang limply in his hand. He limped to the broken window.**

"**Elizabeth?"**

"**Here."**

**He looked to his left and saw her huddled on the corner next to the window. She looked cold, clad only in her blue silk pajamas, the window blowing her hair.**

"**Thought I told you to run," Neal said as he eased himself out the window.**

**Elizabeth latched onto his arm, "I couldn't just leave you."**

"**Why not?" he grumbled as he found his footing on the roof, "It's the smart thing to do."**

"**But not the right thing," she said, "Besides, you didn't leave me."**

**No he hadn't, and that was the whole damn problem.**

"**We gotta move," Neal said, "He's out, but I don't know for how long."**

**Elizabeth nodded. They climbed the incline of the roof to its peak. Elizabeth slid down on her bottom to the rain gutter. He came after her with much less grace.**

"**How bad are you hurt?" she asked.**

"**I'll live," he said, "but I'm never playing hero again."**

**She smiled at him but it vanished as quickly as it had appeared, "How do we get down?"**

"**Good question."**

**The headlights appeared then, swinging into the driveway with a mad and desperate rush. Neal pulled Elizabeth back. He wanted it to be Peter, but he couldn't be sure the man hadn't called for back up. He got his answer when the driver's door swung open and Peter ran for the house.**

"**Peter!"**

**At his wife's relieved cry, Peter changed course and ran through the gate to the backyard. He held his gun in his hand and looked up at the pair perched on the roof. Neal sighed. It was almost over.**

"**Elizabeth?" Peter called, "Are you alright?"**

"**I'm fine." she glanced at Neal, "but my shining knight is a little worse for wear."**

"**I resemble that remark." Neal muttered.**

"**Why are you on the roof? And where's the shooter?"**

"**Knocked out in the attic," Neal called back, "We'd like to get down now please."**

"**Hold on. I'll secure the guy and-"**

**Elizabeth, who had been leaning forward to look down at her husband, suddenly cried out as she lost her balance. She tumbled forward. Peter jerked forward, knowing he wouldn't be in time to keep her from slamming into the ground. Neal's reactions were quicker and in the right range. He latched onto her wrist and flung himself back. Elizabeth dangled off the roof, wishing this day had never started.**

"**El!" Peter cried.**

"**Get under her, Peter," Neal cried, straining to keep his grip, "I can't hold her."**

**Peter raced forward just as Elizabeth's wrist slid from Neal's grasp. She let out a startled cry and braced herself for the hard impact. Instead she felt warm arms wrap around her. She and Peter tumbled to the grass.**

**Elizabeth looked up and smiled lovingly at Peter. He held her close and sighed with relief.**

"**Excuse me."**

**The couple looked up at their roof. Neal waved at them.**

"**Not to ruin the moment," he said cheekily, "but I'd really like to get down now."**

**Peter nodded and opened his mouth to speak. Elizabeth cut him off.**

"**Neal, look out!"**

**Neal turned his head. His attacker, bleeding and furious, grabbed his collar and threw him to the roof. He straddled Neal and grabbed his already bruised neck with his eager hands. Neal couldn't believe it, but he should have known. The hero always dies, at one time or another.**

**And that's what he was. Neal Caffery, ex con man, hero, royal dumbass.**

**Neal pulled at the fingers crushing his windpipe, knowing it was hopeless. He'd lost too much blood, used all of his adrenaline. His strength was gone and so was his air. Black spots danced in front of his vision, clouding the blood thirsty face above him. The pressure in his lungs burned and then there was nothing. No pain, no sound. He was drifting on a cloud, flying high. His hands went limp and Neal closed his eyes.**

**The gun shot echoed one heart beat too late.**


	2. Chapter 2

Peter hated meetings. He hated filling higher ups in on what was going on only to receive looks of doubt and confusion. They didn't get the team's train of thought, didn't understand their course of action, blah blah blah. Peter would rather be at home, unwinding from the day, relaxing with Elizabeth in his arms. But he was here. Listening to the windbag express his doubts. Bored out of his mind.

He half wished Neal was there, if only to see what the conman would do. But the director didn't trust Neal, with good reason. Apparently, the meeting was an exclusive badge flashing party. No art thieves allowed.

Peter felt his phone vibrate on the clip attached to his belt. Probably Elizabeth wondering how much longer he would be. Peter discreetly unclipped the phone and flipped it open under the table. Neal's number stared back at him and Peter hit ignore.

It could have been the excuse he was looking for, but the director wouldn't be happy about him taking a call from the man he didn't even want in his presence.

Peter sighed and leaned back in his chair. Just as he was wondering if he could fake a sudden stomach virus, Jones walked into the conference room.

"Sorry to interrupt, sir," Jones apologized then looked at Peter, "We have a situation, Peter."

Peter could have smiled. He could have kissed Jones in front of half a dozen FBI agents. Instead, he nodded and turned to the audience, "Excuse me. I'll be back."

He practically leapt from his chair. Damn meetings.

"What is it?" Peter asked as he shut the door behind him.

"Caffery is on the move," Jones said.

"So?"

"He's headed out of range, and we have a witness that says he stole a Jag."

"Damn," Peter grumbled and ran a hand through his hair, "Damn it, Neal. What's his last location?"

"Headed south." Jones answered. He followed as Peter started down the hall.

"Get all personnel out and get me his exact location. I want to know where he's going and-" Peter stopped abruptly, a sudden thought entering his mind. He turned to Jones, "You said he stole the Jag?"

Jones nodded, "Yeah. Homeless guy huddled in the alley saw him break the window with his elbow and hop in."

Peter frowned, "Neal doesn't 'steal.' He cons, he lies and manipulates people. And he sure as hell doesn't break windows to do it. Something's up."

"The homeless man didn't say anything about other people," Jones said, "No one was pointing a gun at him."

"Maybe it wasn't him the gun was pointing at," Peter muttered, "I've got a hunch. Get those teams moving. I'll call if this plays out."

Jones nodded and Peter ran down the hall. Deciding the elevator took too damn long, he ran down the stairwell taking them two at a time. He'd reached the parking garage when he felt his phone go off. Remembering Neal's earlier call, Peter immediately grabbed the phone and flipped it open.

"Peter!".

"El, I can't talk now, honey-"

"Peter! Someone's in the house!"

Peter froze. A hundred scenarios of in home invasions ran through his mind. News stories, case files, obituaries-his heart hammered faster with each passing thought.

"What?!"

"He has a gun and I think he's trying to kill me!"

Peter felt like he'd been sucker punched. The breath left him as his stomach dropped. Thoughts of Neal running fled his mind as he ran for his car. He clutched his cell tightly in his hand.

"Neal needs to talk to you."

Peter stumbled and caught himself against his car, "What the hell is Neal doing there?"

"Hello to you too," Neal said tiredly in his ear, "Peter-"

"What the hell are you doing in my house, Caffery? And why is someone shooting at my wife?"

Peter opened his door and slid behind the wheel.

"It's the Scarecrow. He knew I was working with the FBI. He sent someone to kill Elizabeth as a warning."

Peter cursed a thousand obscenities in his head, each one worse than the first. He started his car and pulled out, cursing himself and the FBI the entire way. Elizabeth wasn't supposed to be involved in his work. Nothing was supposed to happen to her just because he decided to work with criminals.

Any other time, Peter might have laughed at that statement.

"How'd you find out?" Peter asked.

"From the unexpected guest I had tonight."

Peter frowned. Something was off with Neal's voice, though Peter couldn't quite place it. The toll booth appeared as Peter took the final curve in the garage. He didn't slow down as he hit the speed bumps and ignored the shouts that followed him.

"What are you doing there?"

Peter knew Neal. He ran from danger and responsibility. He didn't dive into it. Unless he had no choice.

Damn it.

"Bleeding."

Double damn it.

"What the hell-"

"Are you on your way now?"

"Of course I am!" Peter yelled, indignant. "I'm five minutes away. Back up's not far behind."

Or it wouldn't be once he called them. He needed to end the call and-

"Good, cause I think our new friend is trying to break in."

"Neal-"

Peter heard the faint sound of glass shattering. He heard Elizabeth's terrified scream.

"NO!" Peter shouted.

Something thumped on the other line and Peter held his breath, waiting to hear more, hoping the next sound he heard wasn't a gunshot.

"Run!"

Peter could have cried at the sound of Neal's voice. Knowing that listening wouldn't do him any good, Peter reluctantly hung up and dialed Jones. His heart hammered as horns blared around him. Yeah, he thought, go ahead and yell at the man trying to save his wife's life. Damn drivers.

"Burke, we got Caffery's location. He's-"

"At my house, I know," Peter interrupted, "Wolfgang sent a hit man after my wife."

"He what!?"

"Neal's there," Peter went on, "Send the units my way and an ambulance."

"Elizabeth's not-"

"No, it's Neal."

Peter flipped the phone shut and pressed his foot to the floor. He didn't know if Elizabeth was hurt or not, and that scared him the most. Not knowing if at that very moment the killer was pulling the trigger. Not knowing if she'd already been hit and was bleeding out as Peter ran three stop signs and barreled down the street.

And then there was Neal.

Damn the ex con man. Damn him and Wolfgang and meetings and windbag directors that don't know a damn thing.

Damn it all.

Peter slammed on the brakes and swung into the driveway, barely noticing the Jag that sat idling on the street. Before the car was even in park, Peter flung open the door and ran for the house, pulling his gun out of its holster as he went. His stomach clenched when he saw the door off its hinges.

"Peter!"

He slid to a stop and looked frantically for his wife. When he looked up, he thought he might just pass out there on the front lawn. Neal and Elizabeth sat on the roof, looking for the world like they were just star gazing. Peter ran to the back.

"Elizabeth, are you alright?" Peter called.

"I'm fine," she said, "but my shining knight is a little worse for wear."

Neal muttered something Peter didn't hear. That worried him. Neal always had something to say and he always made sure everyone heard it. The fact that he was leaning heavily on Elizabeth and looking like he hadn't slept in a week twisted Peter's stomach.

"What are you doing on the roof?" Peter called up, "And where's the shooter?"

"Knocked out in the attic," Neal answered, "We'd like to get down now please."

He sounded like a petulant child. Peter half felt like leaving him up there to freeze. The little bastard.

"Hold on," he said with a sigh, "I'll secure the guy and-"

For the second time that night, Peter's heart stopped beating. One second, El was smiling down at him and the next she was screaming as she lost her balance and fell forward. Peter jerked forward, tossing his gun behind him as he dove for his wife, knowing he would be too late. And then she stopped, suspended in mid air as if she'd suddenly developed the ability to fly.

"Get under her, Peter!" Neal yelled, "I can't hold her."

Peter rushed forward, holding out both arms like a football receiver. Neal's grip slipped and Elizabeth screamed again as she fell down. Peter barely made it under her in time. They both fell to the ground.

Peter tightened his arms around her, holding her close, feeling her reassuring warmth and breath on his cheek. He laid his head on the grass and was content just to breathe in her scent. Elizabeth looked up at him and smiled. He sighed, intending to kiss her then and there.

"Excuse me."

Damn Neal, master of impeccable timing.

Peter looked up at him and narrowed his eyes when the con man waved cheekily at them.

"Not to ruin the moment, but I'd really like to get down now."

Peter opened his mouth, ready to tell Neal he could just stay up there for all he cared.

"Neal, look out."

The man appeared out of no where. He grabbed Neal by the collar and then Peter couldn't see them anymore. He was already scrambling to his feet. His hand went to his holster and he froze.

"My gun," he said, searching frantically across the yard, "Where the hell is my gun?!"

Elizabeth crawled on her hands and knees patting the grass, anxiously. Peter followed. He stole a glance over his shoulder. The sight of Neal lying on the roof being choked to death fueled his search.

"Damn it!" he cried.

"Got it!"

Elizabeth tossed the gun to him. Peter caught it and fell back on his back, taking aim. He saw Neal's hands fall from his killer's arms, heard his heart pounding in his ears, and fired.

The man jerked to the side. For a moment he stood still, frozen for one moment as his life was caught between this world and the next, hanging on the strings of a marionette. Then the threads snapped and the man tumbled over Neal and crashed to the ground. Elizabeth choked on her scream, and covered her hands with her mouth.

Peter holstered his gun and went to her. He pulled her to her feet, smoothing her hair from her face and trying to hide the grisly sight from her eyes.

"Let's go," Peter said, leading her to the house.

Elizabeth stopped suddenly, "Wait, the attic is blocked."

"What?"

"I put the oak desk over it," Elizabeth said, "You can't get to the roof that way."

Peter stared at her incredulously, "How did you move that thing? It took three U-Haul movers to get it up there."

"Forget about that. How are we going to get to Neal?"

Peter looked up at the roof and did a double take. Neal hadn't moved. He hadn't even flinched.

"Oh no," Peter whispered, "Damn it."

"Peter!"

But Peter didn't hear her. He ran to the rose trestles and started climbing, ignoring the pain from the rose thorns digging into his hands. He grabbed hold of the gutter, found his footing on the siding of the house and pulled himself up on to the roof.

"Peter!"

"Get in the house, El!" Peter called back as he crawled across the shingles to Neal's inert form.

"Like hell I will!"

Damn stubborn woman.

"Neal," Peter said as he tapped the man's cheek, "hey, open your eyes."

Neal didn't respond.

"Neal!"

Even Peter's angry voice did nothing.

Fearing the worst, Peter reached for his neck and pressed two fingers to the artery. The rapid pulse thumped against his finger tips.

"Thank God," Peter sighed.

"Peter?"

He looked down at Elizabeth, "He's alive."

"His side," she called back, crossing her arms over her stomach, "He was bleeding really heavy on his side."

Peter lifted the jacket and cringed at the large, dark stain covering Neal's left side.

"And I think he got shot in the leg."

Peter looked down at her, "Really?"

She nodded.

He turned back to Neal, "You just can't do anything half way can you?"

Neal didn't answer.

Peter glanced at Neal and then down at the ground. Neal was loosing blood fast, from two places apparently, and Peter had nothing to stem the blood flow. He had to get Neal inside.

"El, go in the house and grab the first aid kit."

"What are you going to do?" she asked.

"I'm taking him back into the attic," Peter called. He lifted Neal's arms and started back pedaling up the roof.

"Be careful."

Peter grunted. Neal groaned. Peter somehow managed to get Neal to the other side of the roof without both of them falling to their deaths. Well, maybe not their deaths. Just broken legs. Stupid gravity.

Getting Neal inside the window was another story. He tried to ease him in and realized too late that he should have gone first. Neal thumped to the ground and moaned. Peter grimaced and hopped in after him.

"Ouch."

"Neal? You back?"

"Did I go somewhere?"

Peter knelt beside him and gently turned him over. Neal clenched his eyes shut, his hand automatically going to the wound on his side. Peter cupped Neal's face in his hands, tapping his cheek lightly.

"Hey, wake up. Open your eyes."

"They are open."

"No, they aren't."

"Go away, Peter," Neal said, batting his hand away from his face, "Let me sleep."

"I let you sleep, you die," Peter said.

"Good. Then the pain will be gone."

"Neal."

Neal responded to the angry voice this time and cracked one eye open, "There, happy?"

"Hardly." Peter said dryly. He reached over to a chest and pulled out a knit blanket.

"That looks old," Neal remarked.

"My grandmother made it," Peter balled up the blanket and pressed it against Neal's side.

"Ah! What the hell are you doing?" Neal demanded, pushing Peter away.

"Trying to save your life, or would you like to bleed out?"

"Not really, no, but don't you have anything besides your grandmother's blanket?"

Peter stared at the conman, surprised Neal would give a crap about a badly made blanket. He thought perhaps it was a joke, but judging from the look on Neal's face, the man was quite serious.

"I have a whole chest full," Peter said, applying pressure to the wound, "Now, can I save your life or not?"

Neal sighed and fell back to the ground, "Sure, you can play hero for a while."

"How'd you get this anyway?" Peter asked.

"Knife," Neal mumbled, "That's the last time I eat steak on the roof."

Peter frowned, wondering what he meant, then he remembered the conversation on the phone.

_How'd you know about it?_

_From the unexpected guest I had tonight._

"Damn it, Neal."

"What? What'd I do now?"

"You nearly got yourself killed, that's what."

"Peter, I'm a little slow from lack of blood. Care to elaborate?"

"You drove across town with a knife wound, you idiot." Peter said, glaring at him, "Why didn't you go to the hospital?"

Neal frowned, "Was I supposed to?"

"Yes, Neal. When you have a knife wound and are bleeding out quarts of your own blood, you are supposed to go to the hospital."

"Huh," Neal said, "even when Elizabeth is supposed to be killed?"

Peter gritted his teeth, "You should have called the police."

"Tried calling you. Then I called the FBI. Fat lot of good that did me." Neal mused, "Tell you what, next time I'll just let Elizabeth die, kay."

"That isn't what I meant."

"Well make up your mind." Neal said. Peter was surprised to hear the anger in Neal's voice, "Either you want me to save you wife's life or you don't. God!"

"What is your problem?" Peter demanded.

"You know, it's not like expected a parade or a medal or anything. But some gratitude might be nice," Neal said, "Since I saved the love of your life and all. But, hey, anger works just as good I suppose."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing," Neal sighed, "Can we get out of the filthy attic please?"

Peter glared at him, "Oh no, you don't get to change the subject."

Neal ignored him and scooted out from under his ministering hands. He grabbed the blanket and held it tight as he struggled to his feet, ignoring Peter's outstretched hands.

"Neal, stop being a jack ass and let me help you."

"Why?" Neal demanded.

He stepped forward. His anger and recent brush with death had evidently wiped his memory of the bullet wound in his leg. He cried out and fell to his knees, eyes clenched in pain.

"That's why," Peter said, rushing to him, "Your hurt."

"Really? Hadn't noticed. Thanks for the update."

Peter sighed and rolled his eyes, "Neal-"

"Just get me out of here, please, Peter." Neal asked quietly.

Peter let it slide, giving in to the tired tone of Neal's voice. He got to his feet and went to the oak desk. He pushed against it, straining with the effort. It moved an inch. Peter panted and rested against it.

"This thing must weigh half a ton!"

Neal smirked, "Your wife moved it."

"Shut it, Neal."

Peter pushed again. This time when the desk began to budge, Peter didn't stop pushing. Finally the door was clear and Peter sagged to the floor.

"Damn that's heavy."

"Hey, Peter."

"Give me a second, Neal."

"I don't feel so good."

Peter whipped around. Neal looked up at him through glassy eyes. His face was pale and covered in a sheen of sweat, matting the wavy hair to his forehead. He was shaking like a leaf in the wind as his eyes rolled back and his body pitched forward.

Peter lunged and caught him before he hit the floor.

"Peter!"

"Yeah," he called back, "Hurry, El. Neal just passed out."

"The paramedics are here."

"Lead them up."

Peter lowered Neal's head to his lap and pressed against the blanket. He stared down at the scratched, pale face, listened to the harsh breathing and felt his stomach twist.

Why had Neal risked so much? All he had to do was call the police. He didn't have to handle it himself. No one would have blamed him, but he'd done just the opposite and Peter couldn't figure out why. He knew Neal Caffery. He'd followed him for three years, arrested him twice. Neal wasn't the kind of guy to play hero.

So why had he?

And why did Peter give a damn?

"Sir?"

Peter looked to the hole and beckoned the paramedics into the room. He removed himself from Neal and stumbled back as the paramedics worked. He watched as they took away the blanket and tore open the shirt. And he saw the wound, ugly and ragged, cutting three inches across Neal's side, oozing blood like it was water. Peter rubbed his hand over his mouth and stumbled down the ladder. Elizabeth was waiting for him at the bottom.

"Peter?"

He didn't say anything but took her in his arms and held her close. He closed his eyes, breathed in her perfume and prayed, thanking God she was alright. And pleading that he didn't take Neal's life.


	3. Chapter 3

There was a saying Elizabeth's grandmother used to tell her when she was little. When she dropped her ice cream in the park, forgot her favorite doll on the public bus, found out her best friend was moving away at the end of the week, her grandmother would wrap her in her arms and peck her on the cheek as she said it. She remembered her grandfather's funeral when she was twelve and how her grandmother's contoured cheeks glistened with tears as she leaned over in the church pew and whispered the words in her ear.

"_You don't know what you have until it's gone, baby girl."_

Elizabeth wondered now as she sat in the over stuffed chairs in the hospital waiting room if anyone knew what Neal was. She certainly didn't. Before when she heard Neal's name, all she thought about were those three years she watched Peter stare at files and photos and chase leads that didn't pan out. Now she wasn't sure what to think.

Did she think about his frantic face, covered in sweat, pleading with her to trust the words that fell from his mouth as he sagged against the door frame? Did she think about his cry of pain and the bloody shirt plastered to his side as he fought to stay awake? Or did she think about his inert form, lying on the stretcher as the paramedics rushed him through her house only minutes after he saved her life?

Elizabeth rubbed her temples as she closed her eyes. She owed Neal, so did Peter. That was all she was certain of at this point. That, and they needed a new door.

"El."

Elizabeth jerked her head up and stood as Peter came into the room. He looked exhausted. His shoulders seemed to be carrying a weight he couldn't shrug off and his mouth was set in a permanent frown. Elizabeth crossed her arms over her stomach.

"How is he?" she asked.

Peter glanced at her and quickly looked away. Tears instantly filled her eyes as her mind raced to the worst.

"Oh, Peter, don't tell me-"

"No," Peter said quickly, rushing to her and sliding his hands up and down her arms, "No, sweetie, he isn't. He's alive."

Elizabeth looked up at her husband, "Then what is it?"

"He has to go into surgery," Peter told her, "The knife tore muscle and the bullet did some sort of damage. There was something about his hand-"

Elizabeth frowned, "His hand?"

Peter nodded, "The paramedic said it looked like a rope had gouged his hand."

"Oh, no. It was the cord on the ladder. He was holding it so the man couldn't get in while I moved the desk." Elizabeth pressed her fingers to her mouth, "It snapped. I didn't even think-"

"Hey, don't go there," Peter said as he pulled her to his chest, "Guilt doesn't have its place in this situation, El. The blame goes to one person."

Elizabeth nodded into Peter's shirt and closed her eyes. In her mind's eye, she saw Neal lying on her roof, his face turned away, looking for the world like he was dead. Sudden anger ripped through her veins. Someone had broken into her house, intent on killing her. Someone had nearly killed her friend instead and the someone that ordered it all to be done was still free.

Elizabeth pulled away from Peter, "Then go find him."

Peter smiled softly at her and kissed her forehead, "God, do I love you."

"Same here," she said, kissing him lightly on the mouth, "Now go find that bastard and put him behind bars."

Peter nodded, kissing her full on the mouth and then heading down the hall. Elizabeth watched him go and let the anger die down to embers. She'd let it simmer and grow before she let it erupt. She sank down into the chair, staring at the carpet pattern.

When the first tear fell down her cheek, she didn't notice and she didn't stop the ones that followed.

That was how the nurse found her twenty minutes later, sitting on the chair, hands folded in her lap, knees pressed together and face blank.

"Ma'am?"

Elizabeth glanced up at her, seeming to come out of a trance. The nurse staring down at her was young, in her twenties she guessed. Her short brown hair was pulled back out of clear brown eyes. The freckles on her cheeks danced as she smiled softly.

"Can I get you anything? Maybe a cup of coffee?"

Elizabeth shook her head, "No, I'm fine. Thank you."

The nurse nodded and turned to leave. She stopped, sighed, and sat down on the wooden coffee table across from Elizabeth. She clutched the badge dangling from her neck.

"I don't mean to be rude," she said, "but you don't look fine."

Elizabeth stared at her.

"You've been crying for the past few minutes," she said, pointing to Elizabeth's wet cheeks, "And you're all alone, so," the nurse shrugged, "You wanna talk?"

"I don't even know you." Elizabeth said.

The girl held out her hand, "Melina Carter."

Elizabeth slowly accepted the extended hand and said, "Elizabeth."

"Nice to meet you," Melina said, "Look, Elizabeth, I don't know your situation, but I know when people need to talk. And I'm a good listener, or so I'm told," she shrugged again.

Elizabeth stared at the young face of the eager nurse and looked down at her hands.

"A man broke into my house tonight," she said quietly, "and a friend came to warn me."

"A friend?"

Elizabeth looked up at her, forehead furrowed.

"You hesitated when you said the word," Melina said, "Like you weren't certain that's what they were."

"I'm not." Elizabeth admitted, "It's kind of a long story."

"I've got time."

Elizabeth sighed, "The man, my friend, he's actually a con man my husband put away four years ago. They have a deal going that he's a consultant for the FBI."

Melina frowned, "They can do that?"

"He's helped solve a lot of cases," Elizabeth said, "and so far he hasn't even tried to run."

"But?"

"He's a con man. Peter, my husband doesn't trust him and I can't really blame him."

"But you want to," Melina said.

Elizabeth nodded, "I want to, yes. But it's hard to do that with someone who's made lying their career."

"And this man, the con man, he's the one who warned you about the attacker?"

Again Elizabeth nodded, "He saved my life."

Melina looked over her shoulder and asked solemnly, "How bad was he hurt?"

Fresh tears filled Elizabeth's eyes, "He was shot in the leg when we were running." she struggled to speak as her tears choked her words, "and he was stabbed by another man before he even came over."

Melina reached out and grasped her hand, holding tight. Elizabeth choked on a sob that caught in her throat and latched onto Melina's hand with her other one. She closed her eyes against the tears as they slipped down her face.

"He's going to be alright," Melina said gently, "The doctors will take care of him."

Elizabeth nodded, "But why did he do it? I don't understand!"

Melina reached behind her and handed a box of Kleenex to Elizabeth. She took one and wiped away her tears, but never let go of Melina's hand.

"He's a con man," Elizabeth said, "He lies and cheats and steals. Why would he put himself on the line like that? He's always taken the easy way out. Always! So why now? Why be hero tonight?"

"I think," Melina said softly, "that maybe he always has been."

"What?"

"Look, I don't know this man. I don't know what he did or how or when or where," Melina said, "but was it really all that bad?"

"He stole priceless artifacts! Forged paintings and bonds and-"

"But did he ever kill any one?"

Elizabeth paused.

"Elizabeth, sometimes people see things in black and white, but I kind of see things in shades of gray."

"What do you mean?"

"Your…conman led a life of crime, there's no question there. But the type of crime he chose lends to his character, don't you think? He chose to admire art and recreate it instead of holding a gun to a man's head or kidnapping a young child for a ransom. If he's smart enough to forge bonds, he could have gotten away with murder easy."

"I suppose."

"But he didn't."

"No."

"Tell me something. The man that attacked you and your conman, where is he?"

Elizabeth looked away, "He's dead. My husband shot him when he was attacking Neal."

Melina nodded, "So he killed him. Does that make him a murderer?"

Elizabeth gasped, "No! Hell no! Peter is the most amazing, righteous person I know."

"I don't doubt it. I don't mean to upset you, Elizabeth. Just hear me out, please?" Melina asked. Elizabeth nodded, "My point is that murderers kill for pleasure, for money, for fame. But so do cops and soldiers only their reasons are noble. They kill to protect, to save lives. But everything has its reason."

Melina clutched both of Elizabeth's hands in hers. She smiled slightly, her brown eyes sparkling.

"So why did your conman steal? I don't know. Why did he risk his life for yours tonight? I don't know that either. But I bet they were for similar reasons. A man can't become a hero in an instant when he was a villain a moment before. The hero has to be there waiting in order to be set free."

Elizabeth stared at her, processing the words and feeling her heart flutter. Melina rubbed her hands and stood, letting go and smiling down at her.

"It isn't the _what_ that matters," she said, "It's the _why_."

Melina walked away, letting the words sink in. Elizabeth hardly noticed that she left. She stared down at her hands and pulled the tissue with her fingers, breaking off tiny parts and piling them in her lap. And she thought about Neal.

She thought about the cases he solved. She thought about why he escaped four months before his sentence was up. She thought about the way he could charm anyone out of anything, the way he put his life on the line for nearly every case when he didn't have to. She thought about what had happened that night.

And suddenly she realized exactly what Neal Caffery was. She just hoped he survived the night so she could tell him. And kick his ass.

Elizabeth drifted off to sleep, curled up on the chair. Her dreams were plagued with faceless killers and glinting knives and echoing gun shots. In one, the man succeeded and murdered her and Neal. She watched through Peter's eyes as he discovered their bodies. In another, she watched Neal die and then watched Peter walk through the door unaware, only to be blown away. The images kept coming, and she couldn't open her eyes.

"Elizabeth."

Elizabeth gasped and jerked awake. Her vision blurred. When it came into focus, she saw Melina looking down at her.

"Melina?"

"He's out of surgery."

Elizabeth sat up and stood, "Where is he? Can I see him?"

"Breathe, Elizabeth," Melina said, "Dr. Whitcomb is down the hall. He'll tell you everything you need to know."

Elizabeth nodded and rushed away. An elderly doctor with salt and pepper hair stood at the desk, scribbling on a chart. He looked up and smiled at her.

"You must be Mrs. Burke," he said, "I'm Harry Whitcomb."

"How is he?" Elizabeth asked breathlessly.

Whitcomb's smile widened, "He's fine, Mrs. Burke. The surgery was successful."

Elizabeth could have laughed and cried at the same time. Relief washed through her so powerful that she pressed her hand to her stomach and doubled over. Whitcomb rested his hand on her back.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," she said, "Fine, I promise."

He nodded, though his eyes were wary, "We repaired the muscle damage in his side, leg and hand. We also replenished the blood through transfusion. He'll need physical therapy for the hand and leg, but I expect a full recovery."

Elizabeth couldn't help herself. So overcome with joy, she wrapped her arms around Whitcomb and hugged him tightly.

"Thank you so much, Dr. Whitcomb," she said pulling away, "Can I see him?"

Whitcomb nodded, "He's in ICU, resting. He should becoming out of the anesthesia very soon. I'll show you to his room."

Elizabeth felt as though she was walking on air as she followed him down the hall and to the right. Three doors down he stopped and opened the door. She thanked him again and stepped into the dark, quiet room.

She heard the door latch behind her as she stepped around the corner. Her heart plummeted and her eyes welled with tears.

Neal looked small, fragile wrapped in the sterile white sheets and engulfed in the bed. The IV and oxygen tubes ran across his body. The heart monitor beeped in the corner, loud and painful. Elizabeth pressed her fingers to her mouth and crossed the room. She sank into the chair beside the bed and tentatively reached out to hold his hand.

She froze when she saw the sterile bandage covering it.

"Oh, Neal." she whispered.

She laid her hand on his exposed forearm and squeezed.

"God," she said, "you're such a dumbass."

"That's what I thought."

Elizabeth looked at his face, "Neal?"

Slowly, he cracked his eyes open. For a moment, his face was blank then recognition set in and he smiled weakly.

"Hey, Elizabeth," he frowned, "Why you crying?"

Her heart broke at the hoarse tone of his voice and how each word left him breathless. She wanted to slap him, punch him, kick and scream. But instead she stood, slid her hand to his cheek and kissed his forehead. She closed her eyes and her tears fell to soak into his hair. She finally pulled away and sat down.

"What was that for?" he asked.

"You really are a dumb ass if you don't know," she said with a smile.

He smirked but didn't say anything else.

"How do you feel?"

"Like I got hit by a truck," he answered, "What happened?"

"What do you remember?"

Neal frowned, "Big guy, mad as hell."

Elizabeth nodded, "You passed out. Peter shot him."

"Where is Peter?"

"He's going after the man that did this."

Neal furrowed his eyebrows, "But you just said he got him."

"Not him," Elizabeth said, "The one who sent him."

Neal's eyes went wide, "What? He can't do that! He's going to get himself killed!"

Elizabeth gasped, "What?"

"He knows it was a set up," Neal continued, his voice rising, "He'll be expecting Peter!"

The heart monitor in the corner beeped incessantly. Elizabeth looked at its rapidly spiking lines and back at Neal. He was breathing hard, each breath hitching in his chest.

"Neal," she cried, grabbing his face in her hands, "You have to calm down. Your heart-"

"Stop him, Elizabeth. It isn't worth it."

"Damn it, Neal!" Elizabeth cursed when she saw her words didn't affect him. She looked over her shoulder and shouted, "I need help in here!"

The door burst open seconds later and Melina rushed in. She ran to the other side of Neal's bed.

"What happened?"

"We were just talking-"

Neal coughed harshly, his body arching as his lungs violently revolted. Melina reached out and produced an oxygen mask.

"Calm him down," Melina said.

"How?"

"Talk to him. Reassure him."

Elizabeth leaned close to Neal's face, "Neal, listen to me. I'll call Peter, alright? I'll stop him, but you have to calm down. Peter won't stop if you die."

The heart monitor slowly returned to its normal pace and Neal's body stopped jerking. He stared up at Elizabeth, holding her gaze. It seemed it was his lifeline. Finally, Melina sighed and smiled at Elizabeth.

"His heart rate is normal," she said and looked down at Neal, "but I want you to keep the mask on. You nearly hyperventilated."

Neal nodded and looked at Elizabeth. She didn't have to hear him speak to know what he wanted. She offered him a reassuring smile and turned to Melina.

"Do you have a phone?"

She nodded, "I'll have it for you at the desk."

As Melina left, Elizabeth sat down in the chair and gently wrapped her hand around Neal's bandaged one. She rested her other hand on his shoulder.

"You listen to me, Neal Caffery and you listen good," she said sternly, "I'm leaving you for five minutes to call Peter. If you aren't just the way I left you I will beat your ass with that bed pan. Got it?"

Neal stared at her, confused and slightly fearful. He nodded slowly.

"I mean it," Elizabeth said, choking on tears, "You don't get to die."

She stood and kissed his cheek. She left the room before she lost all control of her tears and wondered if her tear ducts were working over time. For a few moments, she rested her back against Neal's room door. Then she went to call Peter.

She had a request to make that he wouldn't like, but couldn't refuse.`


	4. Chapter 4

Peter didn't understand his anger. He knew why he was angry. Someone breaking into his home and nearly succeeding in offing his wife tended to make him that way. He had every right to be angry, but usually that anger was calm.

He'd had threats against his life and Elizabeth's before. He was an FBI agent; it came with the territory. An occupational hazard, if you will. He'd always been calm even though he was raging on the inside. He was cool, smooth, collected.

But not this time.

"Where the hell is that evidence?" Peter shouted as he burst from his office.

Lauren looked up, "I just called the lab. Forensics aren't finished with it yet."

"Just now?" Peter demanded, "You should have called an hour ago!"

"Peter," Jones said calmly, "Take it down a notch, man. We'll get him."

"I don't want to get him. I want him _got_ an hour ago! Find Wolfgang or kiss your jobs good bye!"

He stormed back into his office. He walked to his desk, leaned against it for a moment, then angrily swept his arm across it. The files, forensic photos and frames littering his desk crashed to the ground. Peter sighed heavily.

"Peter," James said quietly as he entered the office, shutting the door.

"I'm fine," Peter said quickly.

"Doesn't look that way."

Peter opened his eyes and stared at the mess on the floor.

"Look, Peter, I get it, man. I do. Your wife was attacked. That's personal, man, but firing half the office isn't going to get Wolfgang any quicker."

"El's fine," Peter said quietly, "Tough as nails, always has been."

Jones fanned his hands out, "Then what's the problem?"

Peter sighed, "Neal's not."

"He's going to be fine."

"Yeah, you psychic all of a sudden?"

Jones shoved his hands in his pockets and leaned against the door. He watched Peter as he stood and went to the window.

"You know it's not your fault."

Peter shook his head, "He called and I ignored him. He could die because of it."

"He was already hurt, man."

"That's supposed to make me feel better?"

Jones shrugged.

"I should have trusted him," Peter mused, "How many times has he come through for me? But I still write him off. All because I can't bring myself to trust him."

Jones shrugged, "And why should you?"

Peter spun around, "What?"

"The guy's a thief, man. You can't trust him or he'll pull the wool right over your eyes. He'll betray you."

"But he didn't tonight."

"No, but there's a first time for everything. He's a liar. Once a liar, always a liar and you can't change that. You can't change him and you sure as hell can't trust him."

Peter felt his anger swelling in his chest. He felt the urge to lay into Jones, fire him even but he suppressed it and glared.

"Don't you have a job to do?"

Jones nodded and left without another word. Peter angrily started putting things on his desk when his phone rang.

"What?" he snapped into the receiver.

"Excuse me?"

"Sorry, El," Peter said quickly and sank into his chair, "I didn't mean to snap at you."

"You sound angry."

"I am. So far we have no leads on the Scarecrow. If we don't find him soon he's going to walk."

"You'll get him. I know you will, but Neal says to be careful. He'll expect to see you coming."

"Neal says?"

"He's out of surgery. He was awake when I left him but the drugs are probably hitting him now."

"You're just now telling me this?"

"Don't get testy with me, Peter. It's been a long night."

"You're right, you're right. I'm sorry." Peter sighed, "I'm coming down there. Maybe Neal knows something that give us a lead."

"I don't think talking about the case is a good idea. When I mentioned it, Neal almost hyperventilated."

Peter rubbed his temples, "Damn it."

"My thoughts exactly. I'll save you a seat by his bed side."

"Yeah, thanks. Love you."

"Love you too."

Peter didn't tell his team he was leaving. He was angry at them. He wasn't sure why, though. It wasn't like they were deliberately keeping Wolfgang from him. They were doing their jobs.

It hit Peter as he stepped into the elevator. It was because they were just doing their jobs. This was just another case to them; Neal was just another victim. It wasn't personal to them, but it was personal to Peter.

He drove to the hospital in record time and took the elevator to the fourth floor.

"I'm looking for Neal Caffery," he told the nurse at the desk.

"Are you family?" she asked.

"I'm his partner."

The words were out before their meaning even began to sink in. It surprised Peter. Not the words themselves, but that they flowed so naturally, felt so right as they left his tongue. It almost scared him.

The nurse smiled, "Follow me."

Peter followed her down two halls to the pale green door marked 437. He rapped lightly and walked in. Elizabeth sat in the chair beside the bed. She smiled and stood to greet him, kissing his cheek.

"How is he?" Peter asked.

"He is right here," Neal muttered, opening his eyes.

Elizabeth smiled between the two and said, "I'm going to get a coffee."

With that she left and Peter suddenly felt very awkward. He crossed the room and sat in the chair, unsure of what to say.

"I heard about the guy." Neal muttered.

"Yeah."

Silence.

Peter squirmed. Guns he could handle. Fights he could deal with, but emotions were an entirely different war. One Peter didn't know how to combat.

"Don't go after him, Peter."

Peter raised his eyes to Neal at the quiet request. His eyes were half open and the blue orbs pleaded for him to understand. Peter felt his anger bubble.

"Why not?" he asked slowly.

"It isn't worth it."

"The hell it's not." Peter cringed as the anger slipped out.

"He knows you, Peter. He's expecting it." Neal's calm tone only seemed to make him angrier.

"I don't give a damn. He isn't getting away with this."

"With what?"

"This!" Peter gestured wildly at Neal's abused body, "What he did to you!"

"Peter-"

"No, Neal. That isn't how it goes. He doesn't get away with almost killing you."

"You can't catch them all."

"I'm catching this one!"

"I'll find the evidence," Peter swore, "and I'll lock the bastard up."

Neal sighed and leaned his head back into the pillows.

"You okay?" Peter asked.

"Yeah," Neal replied, "What did the man say?"

"What man?"

Neal raised his eyebrow, "My attacker."

Peter stared at him, "Huh?"

"The guy tied up on June's roof," Peter said slowly, "Didn't you find him?"

Peter blanched as realization hit him, "He…he didn't run?"

"Are you okay, Peter? You look sick."

Peter ignored him and pulled out his cell. He called Jones and told him to arrest the man on June's roof. His blood was simmering when he turned back to Neal.

"Start from the beginning." he ordered, "Now."

Neal frowned, "There isn't that much to tell."

"Tell it anyway."

"I was eating dinner on the roof, and a man came up. I didn't recognize him but then he pulled a gun. I started talking."

"Your best defense."

Neal smiled and went on, "He told me he was there to kill me for betraying Wolfgang, said they knew I worked for the FBI. I was trying to stall and invited him to sit."

Peter gaped at him, "You invited a killer to dine with you?"

Neal shrugged, "Seemed like a good idea at the time."

"A good-," Peter stopped and took a calming breath, "What happened next?"

"I guess he was hungry or just couldn't refuse a good steak. He put the gun down the gun and started eating."

"You are the luckiest damn man I've met."

"Funny, doesn't feel that way. He said he'd kill me when he was done then he told me about Elizabeth."

"What happened?"

"I jumped him," Neal said, "I didn't have time to sweet talk him. We fell and fought. I finally punched him enough times to knock him out. I guess I forgot about the knife he had in his hand."

"You idiot."

"I tied him up," Neal said, "You know the rest."

Peter rubbed his temples, "You stupid, stupid idiot."

"Hey-"

"Moron!"

"I didn't-"

"God, who do you think you are?" Peter asked, "You're not Superman, Neal. Knives don't bend off you and bullets sure as hell don't bounce!"

Neal frowned at him, "What was I supposed to do?"

"I don't know!" Peter threw up his hands, "but you're supposed to be alive, damn it. Not bleeding all over a stolen Jag."

"Borrowed."

"Whatever! God what were you thinking?"

Neal grew angry, "I wasn't alright? I acted on impulse. It was a stupid thing to do, but if I hadn't Elizabeth would be dead."

"Acting on impulse is what gets you killed, idiot."

"I gathered that after I got the stab wound. Thanks for the concern."

"Damn it!" Peter shouted unaware his voice was rising, "I knew I was right not to trust you!"

Neal stared at him, shocked.

"You think you saved El's life? You could have gotten her killed! What if you hadn't of got there in time or you were too weak to help her? You had no back up, no one knew what was going on! You're stupid actions could have gotten you both killed!"

"Screw you, Peter," Neal said angrily, "Just get-"

Neal gasped. His hand flew to his chest as he gasped for breath. Peter watched in disbelief as the heart monitor went wild and Neal fought for ever breath. Suddenly, the monitor wailed and the alarm above the bed flashed.

Three nurses rushed into the room, barely noticing Peter was even present. He stepped back and watched in stunned silence as the worked.

"He's coding," a nurse shouted, "Start rescue breathing!"

She placed a clear mask over Neal's mouth and squeezed the pump attached to it every three seconds. Another nurse injected something into the IV.

The monitor flat lined.

"B fib," the nurse shouted. She turned to the third nurse, "Kelly, get the cart!"

"Starting compressions," the nurse said as she pressed her palms against Neal's chest. She looked at the nurse across from her, "Beth, where's Dr. Whitcomb?"

"I paged him," Beth answered pumping air into Neal's lungs.

Kelly appeared with the cart. She rubbed the paddles together and charged the cart to 200 volts.

The nurse without a name pumped hard on Neal's chest. Peter felt his stomach twist when he heard the sound of a bone snapping.

"Melina, we got a pulse," Beth shouted.

Melina stepped back, "Continue breathing."

Beth obeyed. Kelly happily turned off the crash cart as Dr. Whitcomb appeared.

"What happened?" he asked as he rushed to check on his patient.

Peter didn't hear Kelly's answer. He stared at Neal's unresponsive face, the ashen pallor and fine sheen of sweat coating his cheeks. Emotions churned in his stomach-anger, guilt, regret, worry. And fear. They mixed together and spun fast. Nausea overwhelmed Peter and he spun away to the sink behind him, vomiting what food he had consumed that day.

A cool hand touched his back and Peter flinched. When his stomach had been emptied, Peter wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and looked up at Melina.

"Come on," she said, "Let's find your wife."

Peter nodded numbly and glanced at Neal, "Will he be okay?"

"Let's let the doctor examine him," she said, "but I'm sure he'll be just fine."

Peter let her lead him out. The awful taste of vomit lingered in his mouth and burned his throat. He tried to swallow but his mouth had gone dry.

"Agent Burke."

Peter looked down at Melina.

"I think it'd be better if you used your energy to find the suspect you're after."

Peter bristled, "I'm fine."

"No, you're not," Melina said evenly, "Mr. Caffery can't take this kind of stress. His heart is weak. If he has another episode we won't be able to bring him back."

Peter snapped his mouth shut.

"Let him rest. Give him some time to heal. In the mean time, find your man. You do your job and let us do ours."

Peter sighed, "My wife-"

"I'll tell Elizabeth."

He nodded numbly and left, head hung low and heart heavy with one thought.

He'd killed Neal. Maybe for only a few seconds, but that was enough.

How was he supposed to face Neal now? Or Elizabeth?

How the hell could he even look in the mirror?


	5. Chapter 5

Damn.

Neal frowned as he opened his eyes and felt the fresh wave of pain hit him. He reached up with his right hand to touch his side and felt the familiar tug of the IV in his vein. He sighed and closed his eyes at the white ceiling that stared down at him.

Damn.

He was still in the hospital. So the events of the night weren't a dream. Or nightmare. Whatever. He hated hospitals. He hated nurses and needles and IV lines and the damn sterile smell that burned the hairs in his nostrils. What he really hated was the fact that he couldn't leave.

Of course, he knew he could sign out AMA, but he doubted that was wise. What with the forty two stitches currently holding his body together. He would be better off staying in the place that could save his life. Especially since he'd stopped breathing.

Yeah, he was definitely staying.

He shuddered at the memory. TV shows and novels lie. When you stopped breathing, you didn't forget everything when you woke up again. You remembered, everything. Neal remembered.

He remembered the pain tightening in his chest, like a chain had wrapped around him and with every breath it tightened just a little more. Until he couldn't breathe at all. He remembered how his lungs burned and seized, as they fought to bring in oxygen, just a breath, just one. But they couldn't bring in anything and the pain exploded in his chest.

And then the darkness set in. And the pain vanished. And he just felt at peace, serene. He heard voices, shouts, whines from machines and something was pressing on his chest. He felt it, wanted to push it away and make them stop.

He liked feeling at peace.

He wanted to stay in the darkness.

But then the light came. And the pain followed.

Damn it.

Neal suddenly opened his eyes and glanced around the room. His heart fell when he saw he was alone. Crumpled coffee cups littered the floor near his bed. A blanket was discarded over the chair but it was vacant. The room was dimly lit, and Neal had never felt so alone.

Neal carefully pulled the IV from his vein. He winced as blood oozed from the tiny wound and dribbled down his fingers. Wary of his stitches, Neal slid from the bed and pulled on the robe hanging near by.

His hand stung. His leg protested the abuse of walking, but Neal ignored the painful signals from his body and stepped out the door.

He'd learned a long time ago that to blend in you had to act like you knew what you were doing. Neal squared his shoulders and did his best to walk without a limp. He shuffled to the elevator without so much as a second glance from the busy nurses.

He pressed the elevator button and held his breath.

"Nice try."

Neal tensed at the young voice behind him. He ignored her, hoping she wasn't talking to him. But seconds later, a finger tapped him on the shoulder. He turned slowly.

The dark haired nurse smiled up at him, "Making a break for it?"

"Uh," Neal smiled sheepishly, "Just looking for the bathroom."

"Down there," she said, hooking her thumb over shoulder, "in your room."

Neal smiled. The nurse raised an eyebrow at him.

He sighed, "Alright, you caught me," he raised his finger, "But I have a very valid reason."

"I'm sure you do," she said, "Why don't you explain it to me while we stitch up your leg."

"Huh?"

She pointed down to his calf. Neal looked down and frowned at the small patch of red on his scrubs.

"When'd that get there?"

"Come on, Houdini," she said taking his arm, "Let's stitch you up."

He sighed heavily but let her tow him to the exam room down the hall. He'd hate to lose all the blood the doctors had worked so hard to put in him. And it was starting to hurt. Just a little.

"I didn't catch your name," he said as the nurse motioned for him to sit on the table.

"Melina Carter," she said snapping on a pair of gloves, "and I already know all about you, Mr. Caffery."

"Neal, please."

She smirked, "Sorry I'm not in the habit of being on a first name basis with con men."

"Ex, I'm newly reformed."

"Mm-hmm, lie on your stomach."

He obeyed and crossed his hands under his chin. Melina pulled up his pant leg and set to cleaning the wound.

"So how'd you know about my, uh, profession?"

"Elizabeth told me."

"Oh, so you're on a first name basis with her?"

"She didn't steal anything."

"What'd she say about me?" Neal asked timidly.

"I believe she used the word stupid several times."

Neal frowned and tried not to let his hurt show, "Figures."

It figured no one would give a damn, that they all would criticize him rather than praise him. After all, he was a hero, wasn't he? Heroes always got shelved.

"Of course," Melina said slowly, "she said it as she was crying her eyes out."

Neal perked his head up, "What?"

Melina nodded, "I was surprised she even had tears left. She'd been crying for twenty minutes straight," she paused, "or was it thirty?"

Neal pushed up onto his elbows, "You're full of it."

Melina glared at him, "A liar, I am not, Mr. Caffery."

Neal smirked, "Whatever you say, Yoda."

"Lie down, you will."

Neal chuckled and obeyed. Melina pulled out a syringe and gave the wound a numbing agent Neal didn't even fuel the pin prick. He was lost in his own little world.

"You know," Melina said, "running out of a hospital seven hours after surgery isn't the smartest move a guy could make."

"I told you," Neal said, "I had my reasons."

"Yes and I'm still waiting to hear them."

Neal sighed, "You know why I'm here?"

"Stupidity."

"Besides that."

"Evil art thief, two hit men, hero complex, and extreme stupidity." Melina smirked, "I miss anything?"

"No, you got it all."

Melina chuckled and started stitching the wound.

"The man," Neal continued, "the, uh, evil art thief, hired the hit men to kill me and Elizabeth."

"Word of advice, next time don't use your body as a sheild for knives and bullets."

"Duly noted, but the problem is he's still at large. And Peter's going after him."

"Ah, the infamous Agent Burke, I believe I had the pleasure a few hours ago."

"Yeah," Neal fell silent.

"So?"

"So what?"

"How does that connect with you escaping?"

Neal frowned, "I have to stop him."

"You do, huh?"

"He's expecting Peter to come after him. He'll set a trap, I know it, and Peter will walk right into it."

"I think Agent Burke can handle himself."

"I know he can."

"Then why stop him?"

"Because it isn't worth it."

"He thinks it is."

"It's not," Neal said vehemently, "He's only doing it because whis guy went after Elizabeth. And it's going to get him killed and make Elizabeth a widow."

Silence fell over the room. For minutes neither of them spoke then Melina spoke quietly.

"What makes you think it's for Elizabeth?"

Neal spun around, "What?"

Melina met his eyes, "What makes you so sure it's for Elizabeth?"

"Who else would it be for?"

"I don't know," she said, "his partner."

Neal turned away, "Yeah, right."

"That's what he called you, you know. When he came to see you, he asked to see his partner."

"It doesn't mean anything."

"Doesn't it?"

"No," Neal said firmly, "Don't pretend you didn't hear us yelling before/ I'm sure the whole hospital heard."

"Yeah, I heard it."

"So there's your proof."

"Of what exactly?" Melina asked as she put fresh guaze over the wound.

"That Peter doesn't give a damn."

"Oh."

Neal closed his eyes. He hated how saying the words out loud made him feel. He hated to admit that he wanted Peter to care, to respect and trust him. But he knew that would never happen.

"I have a roommate, Tess. We've been friends since middle school."

Neal glanced over his shoulder at Melina, "Yeah?"

She nodded, "We did everything together. Went through hell and back, became blood sisters, the whole she bang."

"Must be nice."

"Thing is, Tess is a big partier. Gets drunk a lot. Most times she calls me or gets a cab to get home. But sometimes, she doesn't. Sometimes she walks or drives."

Neal sat up, carefully pulling his legs off the table. He stared at Melina and she stared back.

"When she gets home those times, I get so mad at her. I say some pretty mean things. Once I called her a selfish bitch, told her she was white trash like her mom and she wasn't going any where in life."

Neal swallowed hard as Melina pulled off her gloves.

"But while I was yelling those awful things," she said, "I was really thinking about the car accident victim who'd been ejected from her car while drunk and had been killed instantly. I was really remembering the mugging victim who had been too inebriated to fight back."

Neal looked down.

Melina said, "I don't yell at her because I don't care, but because I do. I care a lot."

Neal swallowed, "You heard what he said."

Melina pulled the wheel chair from the corner and said, "Yeah, I did."

She helped Neal off the table. He moved to sit down but Melina caught hold of his arm and met his eyes.

"I also heard him toss his cookies when we got you back."

She moved away. Neal sat in the chair, shocked by her words. She started pushing him down the hall.

Neal tried to shut his brain down, but it refused to obey. He didn't want to think about the implications of what Melina had told him. He didn't want to think that Peter was out their risking his life in some twisted say of penance for Neal's sake. Because that would just be too much.

"I don't want to stay here." he said suddenly.

"Don't blame you," Melina answered as they turned towards his room.

"I hate hospitals. I want to check out AMA."

"Alright. Just one question."

"What?"

"Where you going to go?"

Neal hung his head. She was right. His home was probably a crime scene. He had no where to go.

"Damn it."

Melina chuckled, "Beside, if you aren't here when Elizabeth gets back, she'll have you head."

Neal smiled, "I think it was my bed pan, actually. Where is she any way?"

"Sleeping in an empty room. She was getting a kink in her neck from those chairs."

"Can I… can I go…" Neal cleared his throat and tapped the wheel chair arm nervously.

Above him Melina smiled, "Thought you'd never ask."

She turned into the room, but it wasn't Neal's. Inside, Elizabeth was curled on top of the bed, snoring softly. Melina pushed Neal to the edge and went to the woman's other side. Gently, she shook Elizabeth's shoulder.

"Elizabeth," she called, "Hey, wake up."

Elizabeth jerked awake instantly and gasped. She sat straight up and stared at Melina.

"What is it?" she demanded, "Is Neal okay?"

Melina smirked, "Ask him yourself."

Elizabeth turned and Neal flashed her a brilliant smile, "Hey, sleepy head."

Elizabeth let out a startled breath and launched herself at him. She nearly knocked the chair over as she wrapped him in a hug. Neal hesitantly returned it, unsure what to make of this recent development. Neither of them noticed Melina as she left, grinning wide.

"Don't you ever, ever do anything stupid like that again!"

"Um, okay," Neal said, "Which stupid thing are we talking about?"

Elizabeth pulled away, "The dying thing."

"Oh, yeah. Don't worry. I don't plan on doing that any time soon."

Tears filled her eyes, "This is all a big joke to you, isn't it?"

Neal blanched at her tears. He hadn't realized she cared so much. He rememberd Melina saying how much Elizabeth had cried for him and it horrified him that she was doing it again. He reached out for her hand.

"Hey, no tears," he said quickly, "I'm sorry. I spoke without thinking. This isn't a joke."

"No, it's not."

It still amazed Neal how a woman's tears could suddenly turn to anger in a blink of an eye.

"You had me scared to death," Elizabeth said, "Do you know Dr. Whitcomb almost wouldn't let me sit with you? He said it was too much stress! Melina finally convinced him to let my stay, but do you know how worried I was?"

"I'm sorry, Elizabeth."

"Don't apologize!"

Neal was beginning to wonder if he should just keep his mouth shut in general.

"You saved my life, Neal. And while I'm very grateful, I don't want you to do it again."

"You don't?"

"No, you idiot."

Neal smiled, "You are a wonderful woman, Elizabeth."

Elizabeth fell forward and pulled him into another hug, "And you are a wonderful hero, Neal."

Neal frowned, "Can I just be the ex con? Being a hero is much too painful."

"How about you be the friend and we call it even?"

Neal tensed as emotion over came him. He closed his eyes and held Elizabeth close.

Finally she pulled away looking confused, "Why are you in here?"

Neal shrugged, "I asked to see you."

"So why didn't Melina come get me?"

Neal was silent.

"Neal?"

He sighed, "I may have tore the stitches in my leg."

"How?"

Neal looked down, "Trying to escape the hospital."

"Neal!"

"I'm sorry, Elizabeth, but I hate hospitals."

"That doesn't mean you can leave without telling anyone!"

"Yeah, I figured that out," he said scratching the back of his head, "Besides, I have no where to go."

"Oh, yes you do."

"I do?"

Elizabeth nodded, "But you aren't leaving until the doctor orders your release."

"But where-"


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: Don't own them, but they sure own me.

Author Note: I don't know the layout of Neal's apartment, so just bear with me.

**Peter stared through the one way window and at the man that sat cuffed in the chair. The man, Ray Jonas, had been sitting there for three hours. Peter had been standing there for two. **

**He watched the man as his leg jumped up and down nervously and his fingers drummed on the metal table. His brown eyes shifted every two seconds from the left to the right. He stared at the window for only a few seconds at a time, then turned away as if he were ashamed.**

**Peter ground his teeth together. The man didn't look like a killer. He looked like an accountant with wispy brown hair, grown too long and thick rimmed glasses. He had a small white scar over his left cheek bone. **

**There was still blood stained on his left hand.**

**Peter turned on his heel and stormed out of the room. He turned the corner and nearly plowed into Jones.**

"**Hey, Peter-"**

"**Later, Jones."**

**Peter opened the door and stormed into the interrogation room. He shut the door hard behind him and Jonas jumped. Indignation and anger clouded his other wise passive face.**

"**Finally," he said, "I've been waiting in here forever. What's this all about?"**

"**Don't talk." Peter said slowly.**

**Jonas clamped his mouth shut and Peter pulled out the second chair. He sat down and loosened his tie.**

"**You know why you're here." he said.**

"**No, man, I don't. I-"**

**Peter slammed his palm down on the table. The resounding bang startled Jonas and made him jump in his chair.**

"**Don't!" Peter yelled. He took a deep breath, "Don't lie to me."**

**Jonas swallowed.**

"**You know why you're here," Peter said again, "We found you on the roof, tied up with a gun on the table."**

**Jonas opened his mouth to protest. Peter tightened his hand into a fist and glared at him. Jonas snapped his mouth shut and nodded.**

"**Tell me where Wolfgang is."**

**Something dark fell over Jonas's face. He sat back in his chair, shoulders slumped. He finally looked away from Peter's face and shook his head. Peter tore his hand away and cursed. He rubbed his mouth in frustration.**

"**You're going down, Jonas," Peter said, "We have the testimony, the evidence, the motive. Put together, you're going away for a long time."**

**Jonas looked away. Peter leaned over the table.**

"**Unless you give us something."**

**Jonas swallowed and looked up at Peter, "I can't."**

"**Damn it!" Peter slammed both hands on the table and stood, sliding the chair across the tile to slam against he opposite wall, "You tell me where the hell he is!"**

**The door opened and Jones appeared.**

"**Peter," he said calmly, "I need to see you out here."**

"**Not now," Peter said, never taking his eyes off Jonas.**

"**Now, Agent Burke."**

**Peter pushed off the table and stormed out of the interrogation room. He held his hand on his hip and wiped his hand down his face. Jones shut the door and turned to him.**

"**Peter-"**

**The agent turned around, "He knows something, Jones."**

"**Go home, Peter."**

"**He knows something, damn it!"**

"**Yes he does," Jones said, pressing his hand flat against Peter's chest, "but you aren't going to get anything from him today."**

"**Jones-"**

"**You're wiped, Peter," Jones said, "Go home, get some rest and spend sometime with Elizabeth. Come back with a clear head." **

**Peter turned away and ran his hands through his hair. He closed his eyes and suddenly felt how tired he was. He knew Jones was right, but he wasn't about to admit it.**

"**Peter."**

**He turned to Jones.**

"**I mean it."**

**Peter kicked the wall but walked away. He passed the other agents without so much as a glance, jabbing his thumb into the down button next to the elevator. Finally, it dinged and opened its metal doors. Two other agents were waiting to use it, but when Peter stepped inside, they turned their heads and pretended to be busy. Peter glared at the entire office as the doors slid shut.**

**When he was out of sight and riding the elevator down, he fell back against the wall and hung his head.**

**Anger burned in him like a venom. He felt its sting and bite in his stomach, like acid backing up in his throat. He swallowed it down, but its after taste was bitter and disgusting in his mouth. He hated it. Hated that he had nothing to lash out at, nothing to blame. This was all on him.**

**He knew if he'd just answered the damn cell phone, none of this would have happened. But he hadn't.**

**He knew if he could have kept his damn temper in check, Neal's heart wouldn't have stopped for those brief seconds. But he hadn't.**

**And Peter knew if he had just given in and trusted Neal then everything would be alright. But it wasn't. Because Peter hadn't.**

**The elevator arrived on the last floor and Peter walked to his car, seemingly on autopilot. More than anything, he wanted to make it up to Neal. But he knew that was easier said than done. Not that Peter could blame Neal if he didn't ever forgive him. He was having a hard time forgiving himself. **

**Of course, it was going to be hard for Neal to forgive him since Peter had no intentions of talking to him. Nope, not a one. Not until this bastard Wolfgang was caught. Peter had to clean his own conscience before he went to Neal.**

**Peter drove home slowly. He wasn't looking forward to talking with Elizabeth, either. She'd been irate enough of the phone when she'd been informed about Neal's cardiac arrest. His left ear was still partially deaf.**

**It was late afternoon when he pulled into the driveway. The door had been fixed that morning and stood pristine in their threshold. Peter sighed and sauntered out of the car to the door, pushing it open lightly and stepping inside. He tossed his briefcase to the couch as he shrugged off his coat.**

"**Oof!"**

**The startled gasp made Peter jump. He looked to the couch and gaped at the wide blue eyes staring back at him.**

**Neal smirked and waved three fingers at him, "Hey, Peter."**

"**Elizabeth!"**

**His wife came running out of the kitchen in panic and glared at her husband, "Peter, quiet! Neal's sleeping."**

**Peter fanned out his hand and gestured to Neal. The ex con man held the brief case under his chin and smiled sheepishly at Elizabeth. She sighed and rolled her eyes.**

"**Or he was," she glared at Peter.**

"**Can I speak with you in private?" Peter asked with a glance at Neal. He grabbed Elizabeth under her elbow and pulled her into the kitchen.**

"**What is the matter with you?" she demanded, swatting at him with her dish towel.**

**Peter stepped back, "What's the matter with me? What's the matter with **_**you**_**?"**

**Elizabeth crossed her arms over her chest, "I don't know what you're talking about."**

"**Him!" Peter said gesturing fanatically at the living room, "What is Neal doing here?!"**

"**I invited him to stay with us."**

**Peter's jaw dropped. He guessed it was hanging somewhere near his belt buckle. He looked from Elizabeth to the door and back to his wife again. Judging from the determined look on her face, she was quite serious.**

"**No," Peter said shaking his head with a rueful smile, "no way is he staying here."**

**Elizabeth raised an eyebrow.**

"**Don't give me that look," Peter said, "He's a criminal! Tomorrow morning we'll wake up and have to sit on the floor and eat off paper plates because our furniture is being sold on the black market."**

"**You're exaggerating," Elizabeth said. Her tone was patient but underneath Peter could hear the irritation. **

"**He can't stay here," Peter said again.**

"**Then where do you suggest he go?"**

"**Home," Peter answered, "to that mansion with the servants and maids-"**

"**June went to spend the week with her grand daughter in California because of the attack and investigation," Elizabeth said as she went back to the sink full of dishes, "There isn't anyone to help Neal."**

"**So? He's a big boy, El. He'll manage."**

"**Peter Burke!" Elizabeth spun around and Peter gulped, "I am not sending him to an empty apartment when he is injured! He is staying here, and that's that! If you have a problem with it, **_**you**_** can go stay at the apartment!"**

**Peter sighed, "El-"**

"**Don't El me. Now go see what Neal wants for supper." she ordered. Peter stepped back and frowned. Elizabeth grabbed her towel and swatted him again, "Now, Peter."**

"**Alright, alright." Peter grumbled. He went back to the living room, "Hey, Neal-"**

**And he froze. Staring at the empty couch.**

"**Crap."**

**As he debated how to tell Elizabeth her favorite con man had run, his cell phone rang out loudly from his hip. He unclipped it, happy for the excuse to delay the inevitable. Because this was going to be his fault, despite the fact that Neal was a grown man and all. He was going to be to blame some how.**

"**Burke."**

"**Hey, Peter."**

"**Neal!" Peter nearly yelled into the phone, "Where the hell are you?"**

"**In a cab."**

"**Why the hell are you in a cab instead of lying on my couch?"**

**At that moment, Elizabeth decided to enter the room. The happy hostess smile instantly fell from her face at his words. She took one look at the vacant couch and glared at Peter. He could only shrug.**

"**I figured it'd be easier on you guys this way," Neal said from the phone, "I tried to tell Elizabeth you wouldn't want me there, but it isn't easy to win an argument with that woman."**

"**Tell me about it," Peter muttered, "but where are you going to go?"**

"**To the apartment," Neal said with a sigh, "I can manage by myself, no worries. Tell Elizabeth I appreciate the offer."**

"**Yeah," Peter said, but he wasn't really listening to Neal's words. He was listening to how tired his voice sounded, as if he were about to pass out in the middle of the conversation.**

"**Give me the phone, Peter," Elizabeth said holding out her open hand.**

"**El wants to speak with you."**

"**No, Peter, don't give her the phone." Neal said quickly, "I'll be fine. I wouldn't want to get in the way. I'll talk to you later."**

**With that, Neal hung up and Peter was left listening to static. Peter pressed End and looked at Elizabeth.**

"**He hung up."**

**Elizabeth glared at him, "This is your fault, Peter."**

**Yep, he knew it. Some how, it always ended with him getting the guilty sentence.**

"**What? How is it my fault?"**

"**What ever you said to him in the hospital got to him," Elizabeth said, stomping back to the kitchen, "He's been moody and distant ever since he woke up."**

"**That's just how Neal is," Peter protested, "and while we're on the subject, how come no one called me when he woke up?"**

"**Maybe because the last time you two talked he flat lined."**

"**Hey, that's not fair."**

"**How is any of this fair?" Elizabeth spun away from the counter, "How is Neal fending for himself for an entire week fair?"**

"**He made the choice to leave. That's hardly on my shoulders."**

"**Yeah, because you were just so welcoming," Elizabeth stormed past him and headed for the stairs.**

"**El!'**

**Peter followed her up the stairs to the bedroom. He stood in the door way.**

"**Since when did you and Neal become best pals anyway?" he asked.**

"**Oh, I don't know Peter, maybe it was when he took a bullet for me." Elizabeth snatched up two pillows and shoved them in Peter's arms, "Or maybe it was when he fought off a man twice his size so I could escape," she grabbed the throw blanket off the end of the end of the bed and threw it on top of the pillows, "Or maybe it was when he caught me when I fell off the roof. Take your pick."**

**Peter looked down at the pile in his arms, "Are you kicking me out?"**

"**If Neal can't stay here, then you can't stay in this room," Elizabeth said, "Good night Peter."**

**She slammed the door. Peter stared at it wide eyed.**

"**It's only six."**

"**Good night!"**

**Peter sighed and wandered down the hall to the stairs. He was exhausted. All he'd done for the past twenty four hours was chase down leads, pour over forensic photos, and interview witnesses. All of it had led to a big fat nothing, and had left Peter drained.**

**He spread out the blanket and propped the pillows. He took off his tie, shoes and jacket and curled up under the blanket. But as exhausted as he was, sleep didn't come. Instead, he was plagued with images of turned over tables and puddles of spilled blood mixed with red wine. Damn, he knew those crime scene photos would torture him. He just hadn't expected it to happen while he was still awake.**

**Peter tossed and turned. He dozed off into restless slumbers, but if he wasn't seeing horrible things, he was hearing them. Choking for breath, El's scream, guns exploding, the very words that had left his mouth earlier that morning.**

**Damn it.**

**Peter sat up and rubbed his face. The room was dark but for the street lights filtering in through the window behind him. He squinted down at his watch. It read midnight. Peter sighed and threw off the blankets. He hated admitting he was wrong. He hated it even more when he had to admit that to Neal Caffery.**

**But if he wanted any sleep tonight, that was what he was going to have to do. Peter slipped on his shoes and jacket and crept up the stairs to his room.**

**~*~**

**The door crashed in with a thunderous crack. Two men stepped through the ruins, guns loaded and held steadily in front of them. The apartment was dark and quiet. The first man signaled his partner to go right. He went left.**

**Their target slept unaware, blissfully ignorant in a drugged slumber.**

**~*~**

"**El?" Peter called to his wife softly, shaking her shoulder gently.**

**Elizabeth murmured in her sleep and groggily looked up at her husband, "Didn't I kick you out?"**

**Peter smirked, "Yeah, but I just came to tell you I was leaving."**

"**It's midnight. Where are you going?"**

"**To get Neal," Peter admitted with a heavy sigh, "You were right. He shouldn't be all alone."**

"**That's sweet, honey, but don't you think you should wait until morning."**

"**No, I need to talk to him. As soon as possible," Peter said and kissed her temple, "We'll be back later."**

"**Okay," she yawned, "I'll get the guest room ready."**

"**Don't worry about it. I'll take care of it."**

**Elizabeth smiled up at him.**

**~*~**

**The first man, the shorter of the two, walked quietly to the balcony and opened the doors. The quiet night air was all there was to greet him. He worked his way up the spiraling stairs and searched that floor. He found nothing.**

**The second man checked the main floor. They had already searched the rest of the house but found no one. Not even the rich lady who owned the place. He checked the bathroom and kitchen and met his partner at the bottom of the stair case. There was only one room left.**

**~*~**

"**Peter, I really think you should wait until morning," Elizabeth said again, "Neal has to take pain killers. They pretty much knock him out to the rest of the world."**

"**All the more reason to get him here."**

**Elizabeth smiled, "Alright."**

**Peter got up and headed for the door.**

"**Hey, Peter."**

**He turned, "Yeah."**

**She smiled sweetly, "When you get home, come to bed."**

**He smiled back at her.**

**~*~**

**The short man opened the door and swept the room with his gun. The tall man entered the room with his gun aimed at the bed. Their target slept soundly on top of the covers, still fully clothed. The tall man grinned.**

"**Too easy," he whispered.**

**The short man nodded, "Do it."**

**The tall man, who thoroughly enjoyed his work, raised his gun and pressed it against their target's head.**

**Neal turned his head and opened his eyes.**

**The tall man pulled the trigger.**

**Dun…dun…dun…dun….One of these days I'm going to write and Neal death fic. Is that day today? Who knows, you'll just have to wait for the next update!**

**Review please, as they are my life blood and without them I will shrivel up into a husk and blow away in the wind as ashes. Then you'll never know what happens.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Alright, so you guys did such a good job reviewing (cheeky grin) I'll give you the next chapter. As I said before, I don't know the lay out of Neal's apartment so just roll with it. **

**Remember, reviews are our friends, not food. (but they are to me, so keep 'em coming.)**

Peter felt his heart seize in his chest when he saw the splintered door lying in ruins in the hall way, in the apartment. He reached a shaking hand down to his side and cursed when he remembered leaving his gun at home. Lying in the drawer. Completely useless. He reached for his phone and nearly cursed out loud. It was sitting on the console, plugged into its charger.

Damn it all to hell.

Peter had two options.

Option one: he turned on his heel, walked two stories down to the car, and called for back up. Meanwhile, Neal bled to death or his kidnappers got farther and farther away.

Option two: he charged into the room, knowing full well the attackers could still be in the apartment and he could be killed.

Peter chose option two before he was even done considering said options.

He stepped over the remains of the door cautiously and scanned the room. Aside from having the door smashed to pieces, the room seemed in tact. Nothing was out of order, nothing was out of place. No signs of a struggle.

Peter's heart beat a little faster. He tried to keep it in check and calm it down. He had to hear. He couldn't do that with his heart thundering in his ears. He walked down the wall and froze in mid step.

"Someone's gonna come," a harsh voice whispered, "Just blow the lock off."

"Yeah, cause that is so subtle." a second voice whispered back.

"Don't get sarcastic with me," the man said, "You're the one who missed. Two inches away, and you miss!"

"He moved! And I didn't miss him completely."

Peter backed away. Relief and anger washed through him simultaneously. Relief that Neal was still alive and anger that these men were trying to kill him. And almost had.

Peter turned around, searching for a weapon. He knew Neal hated guns and that the man didn't keep one in the house. There had to be something he could use. And then he saw it, lying on the counter. He thought it odd Neal even owned one, but he picked it up anyway and headed back to the hallway.

Sounds of frustrated grunts and hard kicks against wood echoed. Peter leaned against the wall and peeked around the corner. He saw two men, one short and thin, the other tall and limber. The short one was running his shoulder against the bathroom door. The tall man was kicking it just below the door know. The door didn't seem to want to budge. Peter took a deep breath and charged around the corner.

Waving the rolling pin like a mad man.

The short man turned just as Peter brought the pin down directly on top of his skull. The man dropped to his knees, his eyes distant and foggy. The tall man turned and watched his partner fall. He turned his head and raised his gun. Peter clipped him on the jaw with the rolling pin. Then he swung it like a bat and the tall man crumbled under the blow.

The short man groaned and stumbled to his feet. He wobbled as he tried to raise his arm. Peter hit him in the gut with the pin and then brought it down on the back of his skull. The short man fell on top of the tall one, both knocked out.

Peter smiled at his work. Then he looked down at his weapon and tossed it over his shoulder. He'd just tell Neal he took the men out with his awesome martial arts skills.

Peter quickly took both men's guns, tucking one in his belt and holding tightly to the other. He didn't know if there were more men already in the apartment, or more coming. He checked both men's pulses and unfortunately, found both of them alive. He found plastic ties in one man's vest pocket and quickly secured their hands and feet together. Only when he was sure neither man posed a threat did he let his panic take him.

He still hadn't heard a sound from Neal.

Peter kicked the tall man out of his way and ran for the door.

"Neal? It's Peter! Neal, can you hear me?"

No answer.

Peter, not caring if the whole damn world heard him, stepped back, took careful aim, and fired a shot at the door knob. The door splintered and the lock gave. The door cracked open with a crack.

Peter pushed the door open and quickly ducked when an unidentified object came straight for his head. Crouched down, Peter looked up and was startled to see a fire poker lodged in the white bathroom door. Right where his head would have been.

Looking behind the poker, he was even more startled to see one Neal Caffery staring at him with wide blue eyes. The left side of his face was drenched in blood. It looked like a river had opened up on his face and had poured down his neck, staining his shirt collar and half of his blue shirt.

"Peter?" Neal said, confused.

"What the hell are you doing?" Peter demanded. He stepped back and stood, looking from Neal to the fire poker.

Neal offered him a weak smile, "Defending myself?"

"With a fire poker?"

"Seemed like a good idea at the time," Neal said. He jerked on the poker in an attempt to dislodge it.

"Where'd you get that anyway?" Peter asked.

"Grabbed it when I rolled off the bed," Neal grunted. The poker loosened minutely.

"You have a fire place in your room?"

Just as Peter was thinking how completely unfair that was in the grand scheme of things, the fire poker gave into Neal's efforts and pulled free from the door. Unfortunately, Neal was thrown off balance, from the effort or from the blood loss Peter wasn't sure, and spun with the force of his pull. He fell backwards right into Peter's waiting arms. They both landed on their asses.

Neal leaned his head back and looked up at Peter, "What are you doing here anyway?"

"I came to get you," Peter said, "and instead of finding you passed out, I find you hiding in your bathroom with two men trying to kill you." Peter frowned, "Again!"

Neal smiled sheepishly, "Didn't know I was so popular."

Peter's frown deepened, "You're bleeding."

Neal nodded, "That's what happens when a gun goes off two inches from your head."

"Jesus, Neal!"

Neal flopped back as Peter suddenly moved out from under him. Peter was instantly beside him, pulling him to his feet and apologizing repeatedly. Neal held his breath as nausea washed through him. The room spun as Peter led him out of the bathroom.

"Crap, what the hell…okay, stop the bleeding. That's first." Peter said as he helped Neal into the nearest chair.

Neal watched him run across the room and fling drawers open in search of towels. He reached up and touched his face. He frowned when his fingers came away sticky and coated in red. Then he noticed the rolling pin lying on the rug beside the table.

"Peter?"

"Yeah," his partner said as he rushed back to him. Neal winced as Peter pressed the towels against the wound.

"Why is my rolling pin lying on the floor?"

Peter glanced at the pin and decided to ignore the question. He focused on the blood oozing wound on his friend's head. Neal looked like something from a horror story, worse than the other night.

Neal's head dipped forward, his eyes half shut.

"Hey!" Peter cried, panicking, "Stay awake, Neal. No sleeping."

"Tired," Neal muttered, but he raised his head and looked at Peter.

"We half to get to the car," Peter said, "Think you can make it?"

"Rather sleep," Neal said.

"No sleeping," Peter said, harsher than he meant to, "We have to get you to the hospital, Neal."

Neal nodded, then cringed at the pain that erupted through his skull. Damn bullet grazes.

"Kay, here we go," Peter said.

He took Neal's arm and helped him to his feet. Neal leaned heavily against the table. When his feet were under him, he let go. His knees shook and gave. Peter managed to hold him upright and slipped Neal's arm over his shoulders.

"Here, lean on me, pal," Peter said.

Neal scoffed.

"What?" Peter asked. He wasn't really interested, but he had to keep Neal moving and conversation seemed to be his best option.

"Called me 'pal.' That's funny," Neal said.

Peter frowned as they stumbled over the ruins of the front door. He was worried about getting down the stairs, but at the moment, he was more worried about Neal's words.

"Why would that be funny?"

"Pals have to trust each other," Neal said, "Not pals."

"Are too."

Neal started shaking his head, thought better of it, and stopped. He forced his heavy legs to move forward despite how they felt like lead with every step.

"You don't trust me," Neal said quietly, "never have, never will."

Peter stopped at the stairs and let Neal rest against the railing. He looked down at the red carpeted steps and felt his stomach twist.

"How many do you think there are?" he asked quietly.

"Too many," Neal answered.

Peter readjusted Neal's weight against him and started down the stairs. It was slow going. Neal had to have both feet firmly planted on each step before beginning the next.

"That's not true, you know."

"What isn't?" Neal asked, completely focused on his task.

"Not trusting you," Peter said with a sigh, "I don't trust you, completely. But I will one day. It just takes time."

Neal scoffed again.

"I mean it."

"You meant what you said yesterday, too."

Peter cringed, "Do we have to talk about that?"

"Don't like reliving your anger?"

"More like not reliving your death."

Neal looked up at the agent, but the man wouldn't meet his eyes. He stumbled, unfocused on his feet, and pitched forward. Peter wrapped his other arm around Neal's waist, but they still ended up on the stairs. Neal panted, desperate to catch his breath.

Peter studied Neal's face and his worry increased ten fold. Sweat poured down his face just as much as the blood. Neal closed his eyes and tried to calm his breathing.

"I'm not going to make it down the stairs, Peter," Neal panted.

Peter swallowed, "Sure you will. Come on, just a few more."

"Peter, I can barely stand up."

Peter knew he was right, of course. But admitting that meant he'd have to go for the phone and the nearest one was downstairs. He hadn't thought to use Neal's as his panic had taken over his logic.

"Just go call the ambulance," Neal said, pushing Peter away with the strength of a new born kitten.

"I…" Peter let his words falter.

Neal looked up at him, "What?"

Peter looked away, "What if… never mind."

Peter took off down the stairs as quickly as he could with out breaking his neck. He ran for the phone on the table just under the stairs and called 911. After arguing with the incompetent operator, he hung up (because he did _not_ need to stay on the line, damn it) and rushed back up to Neal.

The con man's eyes were closed and his head was dipped forward. Peter feared the worst as he kneeled beside him.

"Neal?"

He reached out a shaking hand to check Neal's pulse when Neal opened his eyes and groaned.

Peter let out a shaky sigh.

"You're acting weird."

Peter looked up at Neal and glared, "Yeah, well you're not acting so hot yourself, mister."

Neal stared at him and Peter found himself squirming under the intent gaze. He sat down on the step below Neal and leaned against the railing. But Neal was still staring at him.

"What?" he finally demanded.

"You," Neal said, "You're acting like…"

"Like what?"

"Like you're actually worried."

Peter snapped his head around, "And that surprises you?"

Neal shrugged lightly.

Peter sighed, "Of course it surprises you. Why wouldn't it? With the way I've been acting, you'd think I hated you."

"The thought had crossed my mind."

"I don't," Peter said frowning, "hate you, I mean. Worry, yeah, I'm doing plenty of that."

"Why?"

"It might have something to do with the profusely bleeding wound on the side of your head."

"I meant why are you worried about me. Why don't you hate me?"

Peter squirmed, "You know I hate doing the emotional talk. Can't we just shake hands and call it good?"

Neal raised an eyebrow at him.

"Don't do that. El does that. It irritates me how both of you are so good at making me admit my feelings."

Neal chuckled but it quickly turned into a groan. Peter remembered the dish towels he still clenched tightly in his hands. He gently pressed them on the wound.

"Ow."

"I hate it that you attract these things," Peter said, "and I hate it that you played hero."

"Do we have to go through this again?"

"Let me finish," Peter snapped. He breathed in to calm himself, "I hate them because…cause I hate seeing my friends hurt."

Neal stilled under Peter's ministering hands.

"I hate worrying," Peter continued, "I hate not being able to do anything. Tracking down the bad guys, arresting people, that's what I do. Sitting on the sidelines and waiting, I don't do those things well."

"Peter-"

"And I hate it that I wasn't the one to come to El's rescue. Okay? It wasn't about any of the crap I said yesterday. I was mad at myself because I wasn't there when she needed me, when you both needed me. And then you were telling me not to do the one thing that I'm good at."

Neal frowned and said quietly, "You'll get killed trying to catch him."

"But that's my decision to make."

"And helping Elizabeth was mine," Neal said.

Peter stilled and dared to look at him.

"You think I like getting shot or stabbed? Or choked? Which is worse than either of the other two, by the way. I'm not a big fan of pain, Peter."

Peter chuckled, "I hadn't noticed. I thought you were dying when you got that splinter the other day."

"It hurt, damn it." Neal said, "Look, the point is, trust is a two way street. I don't trust you either, not completely. But I'm not about to let anything happen to you or Elizabeth, if I can help it. And last night I could help it. So I did something."

Peter sighed, "Well, next time could you do it a little less…bloody?"

Neal smirked, "Are you squeamish Peter?"

"Hardly, but this stuff is supposed to be on the inside of your body. Not decorating your apartment."

"Yeah," Neal frowned, "great. Guess my apartment is going to be a crime scene now. Maybe June has another room for me to stay in-"

"No."

Neal looked up at him, "No?"

Peter shook his head, "No, you're not staying here. Not after tonight, not after this," he nodded to the bloody towels, "not even before that."

Neal frowned, confused.

"I was coming to get you, moron."

"Peter?"

"Yeah."

"Stop moving. You're making me sick."

"I'm not moving."

"Oh," Neal paused, "I think I'm going to pass out then."

Peter watched as Neal's eyes rolled to the back of his head and his body fell to the side. Peter caught him and grunted under the dead weight of his partner. He was able to readjust him so that Neal was lying on his lap.

He frowned at the heavy, sharp breaths and the white pallor of his skin. He pressed the towels harder the to oozing gash, hoping the pain would wake Neal up, but the man was out.

"Damn it, Neal," Peter cursed then looked over his shoulder, "Where the hell is that ambulance?"

He didn't get a reply and his heart sank a little more. Neal couldn't die, not after the progress they made. Not when they'd come this far. He didn't want to lose a friend.

And he really didn't want Elizabeth to kill him.


	8. Chapter 8

**There are way too many shout outs to give! I can't begin to tell you how much I love all of you and your wonderful reviews! Here's an extra long chapter just for that. Love ya'll!**

"**Morons! I'm surrounded by idiots!"**

**The Venetian vase shattered against he warehouse wall as Curtis Wolfgang hurled it through the air. The pieces fell like shimmering diamonds to the concrete floor. But Wolfgang's anger wasn't spent. He turned, reaching for the closest, breakable object which happened to be a priceless statue of a falcon.**

**His right hand man and driver, Vincent snatched it out of his reach and hid it behind his back. Wolfgang glowered when he grasped empty air.**

"**Sorry, Mr. Wolfgang, but Talon and Kane failed. They were arrested late last night. Or early this morning, depending on your point of view."**

"**Damn it!"**

**Wolfgang pulled the black eight ball off the pool table sitting in the corner and heaved it at the window across from him. All at panels collapsed and fell to the ground.**

"**I send four men, **_**four men**_** to kill two people and they can't get it right!?"**

"**In their defense, sir, they nearly succeeded," Vincent said, cautiously placing the statue out of harm's way, "but the agent interfered last night."**

"**They can't even off a stupid house wife!" Wolfgang shouted, tossing his hands in the air.**

"**She had help."**

"**From Caffery! The man doesn't even own a gun and yet he bests my four best men! Damn him!"**

**Wolfgang slammed his fists on his desk. The vases and hand crafted statues shuddered and fell, one by one, off the desk. Vincent sighed as the pieces scattered.**

"**I understand your frustration, sir, but I suggest you let this vendetta go. The jet is waiting to fly you to Paris."**

"**It's my blasted jet! Let them wait."**

**Vincent studied the older man. Though his name hardly struck fear into his victims, his form certainly did. He stood at six feet four inches and was so sturdily built that he rivaled most houses. His hand span alone was the size of Vincent's face. He was not a man to tangle with.**

**Nor betray, as Caffery had so foolishly done.**

"**Sir," Vincent said, "our window of opportunity is closing quickly. If we do not leave the country with in the hour, I'm afraid the FBI will find us."**

"**Let them come."**

**Vincent winced at the calm tone. He much preferred the anger and temper tantrums. He watched his boss lean heavily against the desk. The piece of mahogany furniture groaned under the oppressive weight. Wolfgang's eyes hardened, a cruel longing and vicious thirst clouding them over until there was only a glint of evil intent lurking behind them.**

"**Sir," Vincent said quietly, "what are your orders?"**

"**Ready the car." Wolfgang said, "I believe it's time we took things into our own hands. My father always said: if you want something done right, do it yourself."**

"**Yes, sir."**

"**He was a brilliant man, my father. Built this company from scratch, taught me everything I know."**

_**Until you killed him for it**_**, Vincent thought but knew better than to broach the subject.**

"**Will you be taking care of Mrs. Burke or Caffery first?"**

"**You will take care of Mrs. Burke, Vincent."**

"**And Caffery?"**

**Wolfgang grinned maliciously, "He's mine."**

**~*~**

"**You are either the most accident prone man alive, or you are entirely too popular with the wrong type of crowd."**

**Neal lifted his head and grinned at Melina, "What can I say?"**

"**Nothing," she said as she rounded his bed, "but you could learn to duck."**

**Neal touched the white bandage covering the sixteen stitches Dr. Whitcomb had added to his collection beside his eyebrow, "I learned to roll."**

"**Ah, you're one of those people that has to do things differently than everyone else," Melina said as she checked his vital signs, "but at least you didn't take it lying down."**

"**I was lying down."**

"**Oh, bad choice of words then."**

**Neal chuckled and glanced around the room. He'd been checked in eight hours earlier but had been unconscious for the first six. He'd woken up to Elizabeth's light snoring, which he found utterly adorable, and Peter's whistling, which he found most annoying.**

**They had slept in the room. Well, Elizabeth had slept. Peter had worried. He seemed to be doing that a lot lately. Not that Neal minded. It nice to have some one to care about him without mothering him the way Elizabeth did.**

**He looked at the door.**

"**They'll be back."**

**Neal glanced up at Melina, having almost forgotten she was there.**

**She smiled down at him, "They just went to get some breakfast. Elizabeth said you had drifted off during the news and Peter was getting cranky without his morning coffee."**

**Neal glared at her, "How do you do that?"**

"**Do what?"**

"**Know what I'm thinking before I do."**

**She shrugged, "You're just easy to read."**

"**Am not!" Neal cried crossing his arms and sulking.**

**Melina cocked her eyebrow, "Wanna make a bet?"**

"**You want to make a bet with a con man?"**

"**Rumor," she said, waving off the comment, "Besides, I heard you're newly reformed. And no, Mr. Caffery, you cannot have anything from the cafeteria. You already had breakfast."**

"**Quit that, and that was not breakfast. That was pig slop."**

"**I believe it was oatmeal."**

"**It's in the corner growing mold. Why don't you go try it and tell me if you think it's oatmeal or some alien bi-product."**

**Melina smiled, "I suppose Agent Burke and Elizabeth will have to take you to dinner to celebrate your release from the hospital. No, you can't leave, Mr. Caffery. Not for a few days, anyway."**

"**Stop doing that!"**

"**Doing what?" Elizabeth asked as she walked into the room. Peter followed closely looking content as he sipped from a foam cup.**

"**She's reading my mind," Neal said pointing an accusing finger at Melina, "Make her stop."**

**Elizabeth looked amused as she asked, "Neal Caffery, did you just whine?"**

"**I'm on pain meds," Neal said, "they make me a little loopy."**

"**More like loopier," Peter muttered.**

**Elizabeth smiled at Melina and crossed the room to hug her, "Thank you for taking such good care of him. I hope he wasn't too much of a handful."**

"**No trouble at all," Melina said, carefully ruffling Neal's hair.**

"**Hey!" Neal cried, swatting her hand away, "I'm not a dog!"**

"**Oh yeah? How come you're collared then?" Peter asked with a nod to Neal's ankle.**

**Neal glowered at him, "I hate you."**

**Peter only chuckled.**

"**Agent Burke," Melina said in a solemn voice, "have you gotten your man?"**

**Peter sobered immediately, remembering his last conversation with the young nurse and the circumstances that led to it. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he said, "No, but there's nothing to worry about." He glanced at Neal.**

"**I should hope not," Melina said with a slight smirk, "I'd hat to have to kick you out of the hospital a second time."**

"**A second time?" Neal said. Confused, he looked between the two, his questioning gaze landing on Peter, "What's she talking about?"**

**Peter glared at Melina, "You just had to bring it up. Ever heard of subtlety?"**

**She shrugged, "Hey, don't hate the messenger. Besides, between the two of you I'm going bonkers. It's hard to kicking one out," she nodded at Peter, "and keeping the other one in." she nodded to Neal, and smirked at him.**

**He glared up at her, "You suck."**

"**I aim to please."**

"**Neal," Peter said, crossing his arms over his chest and looking at his consultant, "what's she talking about?"**

**Neal held up his hands, "For the record my heart had stopped only a few hours before and I was dosed up to the gills with pain meds so I wasn't in the best frame of mind," he turned a withering glance to Melina, "Thanks a lot."**

**She smirked sweetly, "No problem, now if you'll excuse me I think I've done enough damage here, I have other patients I must tease."**

"**Are we still on for lunch?" Elizabeth asked.**

"**Most definitely," Melina answered, "That is of course if you can leave these two alone for that long."**

"**I have the babysitter on speed dial."**

"**Hey!" both men cried simultaneously.**

**~*~**

"**Sir, I don't think this is the best option, nor the appropriate setting."**

"**Vincent, do not question me."**

**Vincent sighed, "Sorry, sir. I simply wish you would reconsider. Agents are bound to be posted through out the hospital."**

"**None of them will recognize me in this outfit."**

**Vincent agreed. The surgical cap hid his blond hair completely and the mask covered half of his face. In the green scrubs and white tennis shoes, he looked like any other staff member.**

"**Even if I get blood on me," Wolfgang said, "no one will be the wiser."**

**Vincent nodded.**

"**Did you get the room number?"**

"**Caffery is in 327," Vincent said, "and as you requested, here is your scalpel."**

**He handed the surgical utensil, wrapped in a black cloth, over the seat to Wolfgang.**

"**Excellent. If I'm not back in twenty minutes, move the limo to the rendezvous point. Wait for me there."**

"**Yes, sir."**

"**And Vincent?"**

"**Yes, sir?"**

"**Try not to worry."**

"**Of course, sir."**

**~*~**

"**Would you stop that?"**

"**Stop what?"**

"**Fidgeting. You look like you're having a seizure."**

"**I'm bored."**

"**So read a book, watch some TV. But do something besides fidget!"**

**Neal frowned, "Why are you complaining? You can leave when ever you want to, I have to remain a captive here."**

"**Boys," Elizabeth said patiently, "Peter, how about you go get another coffee and maybe a doughnut."**

**Peter looked at her with raised eyebrows, "Is that a cop joke?"**

"**No," Elizabeth said innocently.**

**Neal stifled his laughter in the palm of his hand.**

"**Quiet," Peter said glaring at him, "or I'll shorten the leash, Clifford."**

**Neal looked at him, "Does that make you Emily Elizabeth?"**

**Elizabeth snorted into her magazine.**

"**Oh, I get it. It's pick on Peter day."**

"**Why not?" Neal smiled, "It's been kill Neal week." he frowned, "Try saying that five times fast."**

**Peter looked to the ceiling and muttered the two words under his breath several times.**

"**Oh for goodness sake," Elizabeth cried, tossing her magazine down, "I'm going to go get something to drink before I lose any more brain cells around the pair of you."**

"**Have fun, honey," Peter smiled.**

**She waved her hand at him without looking and disappeared out the door.**

"**I think we annoy her."**

"**You annoy her."**

"**You're her husband."**

"**So?"**

"**Isn't in your vows or something that you have to annoy her."**

"**Neal."**

"**Yes?"**

"**Shut up."**

**~*~**

**Wolfgang took the staff elevator. He was alone in it but for the woman wearing cleaning staff scrubs. She had her hands stuffed in her pockets and smiled politely at him. He smiled back, but she couldn't see it because of the mask.**

"**You know you can take that off when you aren't in surgery," she joked.**

"**I'm heading to isolation," he said smoothly, "Don't want to pass along any germs."**

**She smiled and the elevator stopped at the third floor. He excused himself and stepped off. The corridor was nearly empty but for three nurses sitting at their stations and a patient roaming the halls holding his IV stand.**

**Wolfgang smiled to himself when he saw there were no guards outside the room. He wandered past the nurses' station without so much as a second glance from any of the staff. He passed the waiting room, turned the corner and found room 327.**

**He opened the door and stepped inside. He nearly jumped when he saw agent Burke sitting beside Caffery's bed. But he kept walking as if nothing were wrong.**

"**I'm hungry."**

**Caffery sounded like a petulant child, but Burke only rolled his eyes.**

"**So eat your breakfast."**

"**You call that breakfast?"**

"**Can I help you?"**

**Wolfgang turned to Burke, "I'm here to take some vitals."**

**Caffery frowned, "But Melina just did that."**

"**Um, well we just got some tests back and I need to check the vitals again to see if they are consistent."**

**That sounded like a legitimate answer, didn't it? Burke nodded and Wolfgang breathed out. He rounded the bed and began fiddling with Caffery's IV bag.**

"**I suppose Dr. Henry is just being over cautious."**

"**Yes, that's right."**

"**Peter-"**

"**Step away from him."**

**Wolfgang slowly raised his eyes to Burke. The agent stood now with his gun pulled and aimed at his head.**

"**I said step away from him," Burke said again.**

"**I'd put your gun down if I were you, Burke," Wolfgang said, "or Mr. Caffery here will have a hard time breathing."**

**Burke frowned then glanced at his consultant. Wolfgang laughed low in his throat when the agent paled at the sight of the scalpel pressed against Caffery's throat.**

"**One flick of my wrist and he bleeds like a stuck pig."**

**~*~**

"**You are so lucky, Mel."**

"**Oh would you stop, Beth."**

**Beth shook her head, "Do you know how lucky you are? Kelly and I would kill to be able to tend to him!"**

"**He's not that great looking." Melina argued.**

"**Are you kidding? He's gorgeous!"**

**Melina sighed and dropped her head to the counter. Why was she cursed to work with such boy crazy women?**

"**Hey, did you guys see that new orderly?" Kelly asked as she walked into the nurses' station.**

"**No, why? Was he cute?"**

**Melina groaned.**

"**Couldn't tell, but he was huge! He had muscles like a flipping foot ball player! He was kind of easy on the eyes too."**

"**Hmm, I didn't hear anything about a new orderly," Beth said, "Where'd you see him?"**

"**Headed into 327-"**

**Melina snapped up, "Neal Caffery's room? Are you sure?"**

**Kelly nodded, "He had to duck down just to get in the door. Why?"**

"**Call security."**

"**Mel-"**

"**Now, Beth!"**

"**Wait, Mel, where are you going?"**

**~*~**

**Peter looked between Neal and the man. He did his best to keep focused on the imposter as looking at Neal only made him want to throw up. The ex con man had his head tilted back against the pillows as far as it could go. His eyes were clenched shut as beads of sweat appeared on his forehead. He didn't swallow and he was barely breathing, afraid that too deep of a breath would leave him bleeding out.**

"**Look at him, Burke. Isn't he just pathetic?"**

**Peter glowered at him, "Who the hell are you? Another of Wolfgang's lackeys?"**

"**Hardly."**

**With his free hand the man reached up and pulled the mask off his face, then pulled the cap off his head. Wolfgang grinned back at him.**

"**You son of a bitch."**

"**Now, Burke. No need for name calling. You wouldn't want my hand to slip, now would you?"**

**Neal gasped and stifled a cry as the scalpel moved ever so slightly. A thin red line appeared and blood slipped down his neck. Peter tightened his hold on the gun.**

"**Get that away from him."**

"**Not going to happen." Wolfgang nodded to Peter's gun, "Put down your weapon."**

"**No way."**

**Wolfgang smirked, "Then it seems we have a stand off."**

"**If you don't put that damn thing away, I'm going to shoot you."**

"**Shoot me and I slice Caffery."**

"**Good thing we're in the hospital then."**

**Peter could feel Neal's eyes on him, uncertain and terrified. He forced himself not to look.**

**Wolfgang chuckled, "You're gutsy, Burke, I'll give you that. But it isn't your life you're gambling with. Caffery may not appreciate that."**

**Peter clenched his teeth. He needed a diversion, a distraction, anything to give him a chance. If he waited too long, El would come back in the room and land in the crossfire. If he waited too long, Neal wouldn't make it. He had to find a way to get everyone out of here alive.**

**Except Wolfgang.**

**He didn't much care how he mad it out of this mess.**

"**Time's wasting, Burke," Wolfgang said impatiently, "Don't tell me you need more incentive."**

**Neal tensed and Peter caved.**

"**Alright, don't. I'll put it down."**

**A breeze lifted the curtain behind Wolfgang and caressed Peter's face. It was cold. Peter frowned. And glanced behind Wolfgang.**

**The massive man frowned, "What are you looking at?"**

"**Nothing," Peter said quickly.**

"**Give me the gun."**

**Peter hated giving in, but he slowly lowered the gun and offered Wolfgang the butt. He took it and grinned like a mad man.**

"**Now that wasn't so hard, was it?" he asked.**

**Peter glared, "I gave you what you wanted, now remove the scalpel."**

**Wolfgang smirked, "Sure thing."**

**Time seemed to slow. Peter realized Wolfgang's intentions, but it was too late to stop him. Wolfgang pulled the scalpel back, racking it across Neal's exposed neck, blood leaking out like morbid tears. Neal cringed. Peter lunged.**

**Then suddenly, Wolfgang stopped.**

**His eyes widened in terror and confusion as his entire body froze. A gurgling moan escaped his lips but that was all. He was still, suddenly turned into a statue.**

"**I'm so getting fired for this."**

**Peter stepped to the side and peered around Wolfgang. His jaw dropped.**

"**Melina?"**

**She looked back at him, "You wanna get that scalpel out of his hands before he does any more damage?"**

**Peter snapped his head back to Neal and carefully pried the utensil out of Wolfgang's still fingers. When it was free, he tossed it aside as if it had burned him. Neal took in a gasping breath and pressed his fingers to his throat. **

"**Melina, we need something to stop the bleeding," Peter said urgently.**

"**A little help on my end would be nice, Agent Burke."**

**Peter frowned and ran around the bed to stand beside Melina. He gaped at her, looking from her strained face to the scalpel sticking out of Wolfgang's neck.**

"**What the hell did you do?"**

"**I paralyzed him," she said.**

"**For how long?"**

"**Oh for a few minutes. What do you think?! There's a freaking scalpel sticking out of his neck!"**

"**Right," Peter said, staring in awe.**

"**He's a little heavy, Agent Burke."**

**It was then that Peter noticed Melina was trying to hold the much bigger man up with her slight body. He rushed forward and helped her lay Wolfgang on his stomach against the tile. Before Peter could question her further, Melina jumped up, grabbed a towel from the shelf beside Neal's bed and pressed it against the wound.**

"**Ow," Neal groaned.**

"**Well, at least your vocal chords are still in tact," Melina grinned.**

"**Oh joy." Peter grumbled.**

**Neal glared at him, and opened his mouth when suddenly the door burst open and hospital security came barreling in. Behind them, Elizabeth pushed her way into the room. She looked from Neal and Melina to Peter and Wolfgang.**

**She huffed, crossed her arms and said, "I miss everything."**

**~*~**

**Vincent waited for twenty minutes in the parking lot of the hospital as he was ordered.**

**When the twenty minutes were up, however, he didn't move the limo.**

**Instead, he sighed, removed his driver's cap, and pulled out his cell phone.**

**He dialed the number and waited.**

"**FBI, how may I direct your call?"**

"**I need to speak with Agent Burke."**

**One chapter left I think. I'm debating on the ending, but I should have it up sometime soon. Review please!**


	9. Chapter 9

Final chapter has arrived! It isn't as long as the others but it's just the wrap up. Or is it? Mwhahahaha!

"**Damn it!"**

**Peter dropped the paper in his lap and looked up. He chuckled as Neal maneuvered his crutches and side stepped the couch. Neal looked up at him and glared.**

"**You get way too much enjoyment out of this," he said.**

"**You're getting better at that," Peter said, "That's only the second time today."**

"**I'd like to see you do it."**

**Peter chuckled and lifted his paper again.**

"**Um, Peter."**

"**What?"**

"**I'm stuck."**

**Peter looked over the paper. Neal stood by the couch, tugging on the right crutch. He had somehow managed to get the bottom wedged under the piece of furniture. He sighed and looked at Peter with the dreaded puppy dog eyes.**

"**Oh good grief," Peter muttered, folding the paper and placing it beside him.**

"**Don't blame me," Neal said as Peter got up and took the crutch, "These crutches have it out for me."**

"**You have to be smarter than the crutch, Neal." Peter said. He tugged on the couch. It didn't budge.**

**Neal smirked, "Look who's talking."**

**Peter glared at him before bending over and grabbing the base of the crutch and yanking on it as hard as he could. The couch lurched forward but the crutch was still stuck.**

"**What the heck did you do, Neal? Super glue the damn thing."**

"**Yes, Peter, I keep a heated glue gun in my back pocket just in case I need to annoy you."**

"**You're right," Peter smirked, "You can do that just by opening your mouth."**

**Peter tugged on the crutch again while Neal, smirking evilly behind him, lifted the second crutch and pushed Peter over. Peter landed face first in the cushions, propelling the couch backwards.**

"**Neal, what the hell?" Peter demanded as he spun around.**

**Neal bent down and picked up the crutch, grinning, "Hey, look. It's unstuck."**

"**Yahoo." Peter grumbled.**

**Neal waited for him to pull the couch back and go back to his paper before he settled himself down on the couch. He had just laid his crutches down and found a comfortable place when he remembered the drink he'd left in the kitchen.**

"**Peter-"**

"**No."**

"**Oh, come on. It's twenty steps away."**

"**So go get it."**

"**I'm on crutches."**

"**Your point?"**

**Peter deliberately put the paper in front of his face so he wouldn't have to face Neal's puppy dog eyes. He'd fallen victim to their deceptive powers one time too many over the past two weeks. He wasn't going to do it again. Not for a stupid drink.**

**He heard Neal sigh, but he didn't get up. Peter glanced at him and noticed the man pressing his fingers against the white bandage on his neck.**

"**Leave it be, Neal."**

**Neal dropped his hand and chuckled self consciously, "Nervous habit."**

"**It's almost gone. Doc said you could lose the bandage if you wanted to."**

**Neal shook his head, "I don't…when I look in the mirror I…"**

**Peter only nodded. He was glad Neal had chosen to keep the bandage on even after the stitches came out. He didn't like seeing the three inch, clean cut line either. It made his stomach turn every time.**

"**How's Melina doing?"**

"**Wolfgang is suing her," Peter said and turned the page, "but with the FBI backing her, she shouldn't have any problems."**

"**I can't believe she paralyzed him."**

"**That's one of the claims Wolfgang is making. He says she used her medical training against him and went against the Hippocratic oath."**

"**She's not a doctor."**

"**Doesn't matter."**

**Neal frowned and Peter sighed.**

"**Stop that."**

"**I'm not doing anything." Neal said.**

"**You're brooding. Melina made her choice. She chose to save you over her career. Besides, she's not too heart broken about it. She said something about always wanting to be a teacher anyway."**

**Neal laughed just as the front door opened and Elizabeth walked in. She juggled a brown package as she took off her scarf. **

"**What do you have there honey?" Peter asked.**

"**I don't know. It was on our porch." she said, "It's addressed to Neal."**

**Peter glared at the con man in question, "You're having your packages shipped here?"**

**Neal shrugged, "Only one, and I couldn't exactly get it from my apartment, now could I?"**

"**And you just had to have it now?"**

"**It's not for me. It's yours."**

**Peter raised an eyebrow and Elizabeth grinned. She walked around the couch to sit next to her husband. She placed the package in his lap.**

"**What is it?" Peter asked.**

"**Just something to thank you," Neal said, "You know, for saving my life and letting me stay here."**

"**Ah, isn't that sweet, honey." Elizabeth said, "Go on, open it. Let's see what's in it."**

**Peter gave Neal one last long look, and then tore open the brown paper around the box. He popped open the lid to find a mass of white tissue paper. He reached in and pulled out a polished rolling pin.**

**Peter smirked and looked at Neal, "What's this?"**

**Neal grinned, "I though you might need it. In case men attack here."**

**Elizabeth took the rolling pin in her hands, "I don't get it."**

"**Don't worry, honey." Peter said while laughing.**

**Elizabeth turned the pin over in her hands and found something engraved in the wood, "To the best partner. Thanks. P.S.-you owe me a new one."**

**Neal grinned broadly as Peter doubled over laughing. Peter took the rolling pin from his wife and pretended to swipe at Neal who ducked easily.**

"**Alright, enough boys," Elizabeth said, "I'll take that." she took the pin and headed for the kitchen, "If you need me I'll be making supper."**

**She disappeared around the corner. Peter chuckled then looked at Neal.**

"**You really didn't-"**

"**I know."**

"**Good."**

**They sat in an awkward silence. Neal cleared his throat. Peter fiddled with the discarded paper and box.**

"**Hey, Neal. Do me a favor?" Peter said, finally breaking the silence.**

"**Sure."**

"**Don't play hero any more."**

**Neal chuckled, "No worries, Peter. I don't want to end up dead."**

**Peter frowned, "What?"**

"**Heroes always die," Neal said, "I like to breathe, if it's all the same."**

"**Hate to break it to you, Neal, but heroes don't die."**

"**Do to."**

"**Do not."**

"**Name one hero that's still living."**

"**Heroes don't die because the causes they fight for are still alive." Peter said and gestured to the dining room.**

**Neal looked up and saw Elizabeth setting the table. He smiled softly and looked back at Peter.**

"**You wanna talk specific," Peter said, "then, yeah, heroes die, but so does everyone, sometime. But what they die for and what they lived for, that's what makes them a hero. And that," Peter clapped Neal on the shoulder and stood up, "that never dies."**

**Neal watched him as he went to help Elizabeth. He smiled. Maybe the life of a hero wasn't so bad after all.**

**~*~**

**Across town, Melina Carter sat in her car in the parking lot of the hospital with her cell phone in her hand. With shaking fingers she dialed a number she now knew by heart. The call was answered on the second ring.**

"**Is it done?"**

"**He's safe," Melina said. She swallowed when her voice cracked.**

"**Good. You've done well."**

"**I want to talk to her."**

"**That wasn't part of the deal, Mrs. Carter."**

"**She's my sister, damn it."**

"**And she is safe. When Caffery gives us what we want, she will be released. Until then it is your job to get close to him."**

"**He won't fall for it. He's too smart, and I won't betray her or my husband."**

"**You will for her safety, and it won't come to that, Mrs. Carter. Get close to him, keep him alive, and find out where he hid the bonds."**

**Melina sighed and rubbed her eyes with her fingers, "I want to talk to Kate. Please."**

"**She's safe. Believe that."**

**Melina fought back tears. She bit her lip and let her anger take over, "When this is over, I'm going to do you a favor."**

"**What's that?"**

"**I'm going to make sure you're never able to reproduce spawn like you into this world."**

**The man chuckled, "After what you did to Wolfgang, I don't doubt your word, Mrs. Carter."**

**Melina hung up the phone and stared out across the parking lot. The man was right. She would do anything to help her older sister. But even she had her limits. She just hoped she didn't have to push them to the limit before this was all over.**

**She reached across the console to her purse and pulled out the small caliber gun. With shaking hands, she checked the cartridge and the safety. She closed her eyes against the tears that assaulted her.**

**And wondered just how far she would go.**

**I'm working on the sequel but some oneshots have popped into my brain. I'll have those up in the next few weeks. This has been a great experience and you guys have been a big help in continuing the story. Enjoy the rest of the weekend!**


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